A Stitch in Downton Time
by ameliapemerson
Summary: A Stitch in Downton Time: our time traveling couple: Ch 10 Christmas Time
1. Chapter 1:What is Time?

_Ever drifting down the stream- Lingering in the golden gleam- Life, what is it but a dream?"_

― _Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass_

XX

Matthew's head was spinning. His eyes gauzy and unfocused. He blinked. Pulled his hair from his eyes. Tried to focus on the bulls eye. But the room kept spiraling. He thought it was happening again. Being sent back? Being sent somewhere else? Away from Mary? Before he even found her?

He got slightly scared. But no. He was just crocked.

The cat calls from the sidelines brought him back to this reality. "Dude. Get going and don't hit Chris. The dartboard is behind you." Melisa, herself not at all stable, turned Matthew around. They fell briefly against each other and laughed.

Right." Matthew's voice only slightly slurred. He needed to stop the shots soon.

He shook his head and gripped the missile more tightly. Pulled his sleeves up. Closed his eyes and refocused again. The chants and claps of his new mates cheering him on. He had no idea he was any good at darts. But it turns out he was. Well… before he got blind drunk on the Empty Glass game and could no longer even see the small red inner bulls eye.

A few hours ago, he had no idea know what the EG game was but he didn't want to let on. He has spent the last three months not letting on. Trying to fit in. Needing a job desperately. Lying about his birthdate. So confused and worried he hardly knew if he was coming or going.

And then he decided he had to just start fitting in. He had lucked into a job. So when the other law clerks and retainers took a cab for a bender at the local Red Lion he joined them. And when he finished his first pint he put it on the table. Everyone else pointed and hollered in raucous tandem "Empty Glass!" Turned out he had to touch the pint to someone else's shoulder before placing it on the table. As he failed to do so, he had to go to the bar and buy a fresh pint and down it one.

Matthew made sure to touch Claire's shoulder before putting the second pint down. And he switched to vodka and whisky so he wouldn't have to drink an entire pint again. Should he fail to touch. Which he did as he slowly lost his senses.

Along with everyone else.

They proceeded to try to answer the pub trivia questions on the screen above the bar. Matthew immediately answered "Barchester Towers" to a question on the clergy in literature. That was acknowledged by rounds of applause and knocks on the bench table.

His next answer also came swiftly but quietly, almost a whisper as if saying out loud was too painful. "King Cepheus"" when the question asked "who in Greek mythology was Andromeda's father?" His lower lip quivered and he bit his upper to hold in the heavy sigh he felt form in his windpipe. His stomach churned.

His new friends couldn't believe his expertise. If they saw his discomfort he hoped they chalked it up to the drink. It was too private to explain to people who'd never understand anyway.

But he soon lost favor with his obvious confusion with regards '80s rock bands and the English 1966 FIFA World Cup victory. They humorously drowned down his attempts in boos and hisses.

"What were you?" Richard said, leaning in and breathing a rather horrible mix of bitter ale and vinegar chips in his direction, "born under a rock?"

No, Matthew thought, just in a previous century.

XX

Mary could not believe she was doing this. What would Granny Violet say? Her mother? Sybil, of course, would urge her on. Edith probably make a snide comment and call her a slut again.

Mary put all thoughts of her family from her head. She was in this new life now. She had no idea how, or why. But one thing she realized very soon into her stay in 21st century London was that women had a lot more freedom to do what they want, when they want, and who they want to do it with than she had ever thought possible.

And such morality minders as Edith no longer ruled women's lives. She was her own woman. Her past was not going to destroy her here.

And it was liberating.

When she accepted the job at the vintage store, desperate for some stability in a situation that had none, the owner found her knowledge of early 20th century fashion remarkable. She used her only asset to her advantage, and Mary excelled at this job. She met many new friends in the associates and clients of the store.

They were with her now, telling her that a small red one would be perfect on her shoulder blade. They would stay with her and support her through the inking. She had already changed hairstyle and her clothes, so why not?

Antoinette was all for Mary getting a series of butterflies all along her right arm. "So delicate and beautiful. They would look gorgeous with a sleeveless dress."

But Mary demurred. She had no idea about such things except that everyone at the shop except her had some. And after she got over her initial shock, the idea of getting one herself took hold.

Mary watched the others get flowers or quotes on their arms and ankles. She took the plunge, warned by Shirley about the needles and small amount of blood. Because hers was so small, the pain was not that bad.

And she wore a low cut tank shirt so that everyone could later see it at the restaurant they all walked to afterward.

"To think when you first walked into my shop, you didn't even know how to undress yourself." Shirley had laughed that off as a joke, but Mary knew the truth of it.

For she had no Anna to serve her hand and foot anymore.

XX

They walked into the shop to find some jewelry before the meeting with their friends and the dinner with her father to come.

Matthew wandered around finding it particularly odd to see a duplicate of his own bowler hat on display. He glanced at the price tag and puckered his lips in amusement. He continued to stroll around until his attention was drawn to the tall woman in a sleeveless shirt pointing past him towards the back wall.

"I think the Dior is over here." The voice pleasant and mellifluous. Perfect diction. But the blur of blue and black that swept past him took his breath away.

Matthew's head spun around. He knew her.

Upon actually looking more closely, he could see the hair was not entirely blue but streaked with blue highlights. The rest was silky black. Shoulder length and curled around her ears.

She had cut her hair. Had changed its style and color. Had…he could not believe his eyes even as he hungrily took it in …. She had a small tattoo on her upper shoulder. A heart. A deep red heart. Small yes, but observable to the naked eye. He could not look away. He rather openly stared. And swallowed. Taking it all in. He could hardly believe it.

Her clothes were vintage, he now knew to say. But, he observed 60s mod with a clinging mini skirt and tights. A form fitting tank top. Red ankle length boots.

He took all this in in his glance. It was her. Definitely her. After six months of looking. Of almost…. He swallowed…. Almost giving up and just getting on with this new life he found himself in.

Mary. He turned to speak to her. "Mary." His voice warm, as familiar as he could make it.

She, however, ignored him. Patently, intentionally ignored him.

Frustrated, he shook his head.

"Mary." Louder. In her direction. His actions earning him a dirty look from his female companion. He shook his head and ignored her.

Drawn back to Mary. Mary knew him as well as he knew her.

He had not changed as much as she. His trip through the looking glass or HG Wells time machine or whatever it was that brought him (and now thank God he found her …Mary) into this 21st century London only resulted in some changes of clothes. And knowledge of future history. And yes, he had to admit the appearance of a brand new…

And… oh maybe that's why she was ignoring him. For Susanna was making a beeline for him. Throwing her arms possessively around his shoulders, even as he could not break his stare at Mary.

Susanna clearly wanted all his attention. And she determined to show up this shop girl.

"Matthew darling" Susanna kissed his cheek, then wiped away the red lipstick with her fingers, leaving to her satisfaction though, a streak of possession. "You know I must have these." She turned to Mary.

"How much?" She thrust out her hand to show the pearl and diamond inlay earrings.

Mary sniffed and made a show of looking them over closely. Then assessing, it seemed to Matthew, just how much to charge by giving his companion the once over from head to designer Jimmy Choo shoe toe. "Givenchy. £400." Almost daring her to haggle. Mary then smacked her lips and looked bored.

Matthew knew that look well. The icy dismissive stare. He tried again to get her attention. "Mary." He said her name under his breath quietly, urgently.

She turned. Cold black eyes meeting his confused azure. "I think your girlfriend wants to buy the earrings. We only take cash or cheque I'm afraid." Blankly, she blinked and turned away from them and towards the register.

His open mouthed gawp stared back. Disbelieving in her indifference. But he was forced by the circumstances to go along. Susanna persisted she wanted them.

He did as she wanted.

He paid the cash. Mary cocked an eyebrow and took the pound notes.

Susanna said, gleefully, aware that his attention was turned back towards her. "Let's get going. Missy and Philip will be waiting at Claridge's for us." And she pushed Matthew towards the door of the vintage clothing store. "Ta…" Susanna's hand waved backward in Mary's vague direction.

He stopped at the door. Stared back before closing it behind him. He called out decidedly loud so Mary could not help but hear. "I'll be back Mary. I know you know me. I'll be back…and" He put his hand through hair and scratched his scalp. "…I'll try to …." But the door closed before he could finish and Susanna's arm thrust itself through his own and guided him away from the store and towards the street.

Behind the counter, Mary, with shaking hands, eased herself onto a chair behind the counter.

"Oh Matthew, my love." She thought. "Of course you followed me. To the ends of time it seemed…" But considering the beautiful aristocratic blonde at his side, "You've obviously done better without me."

 **XX**

 **Six months previous: July 1914**

 _Let's not pretend this isn't the answer to every one of our prayers._ Cora said.

 _I'd have to tell him._

Cora's face fell. _Oh... is it absolutely necessary?_

 _If I didn't, I'd feel as if I'd caught him with a lie._

The words spun in Mary's head even as she made her way around the ballroom floor. On Matthew' arm. Everyone looking. Pointing. Speculating.

Matthew's slip of a mischievous smile indicative of how much he was enjoying himself. He leaned in towards her ear, making her shiver. "We seem to be the center of attention." Even his voice danced and warbled. Previously he had slid up behind her, put his hands a bit too daringly on her bare shoulders and kissed her neck. Whispered that he demanded the next dance.

Mary noticed Rosamund's look of pained disdain at Matthew's attentions. She had wanted a Duke for Mary. Not some country solicitor.

But Mary ignored her aunt for once. Took Matthew's proffered arm and let him take her onto the dance floor.

He was so in love.

And she was going to have to break his heart.

Her eyes drifted away from him. Shadowed. She could no longer look him in the face. Knowing what she knew. He would despise her. What was it she called herself to her mother...'damaged goods?'

The careless whispers in London Society had not yet reached his ears. Perhaps it would tonight saving her the pain of being the one to tell him.

Tell him how a man had forced his way into her room. A man, a foreigner at that, who then died _in flagrante delicto_.

The society women would have only half the story. But it was the salacious half. That she had taken a lover. Would they snicker and hold their fans to their mouths at that, when they told him? The cover up that followed. The lies. Matthew kept unaware.

No, it had to come from her own lips. The events of that night. The dead weight she could still feel when she closed her eyes.

The risk to tell him all to gain all. Or nothing.

Their eyes met. Matthew moved in to kiss her. She said instead, "Excuse me for a moment."

His eyes wounded but trusting. "I'll get us some punch." His gloved hand let go of hers. But his gaze watched her until she left the ballroom for the side corridor.

Then she hurried outside. Hardly able to breathe. The street empty except for some partygoers strolling around the Mall across the street. She made her way over and lost herself in the crowd. She wanted to be by herself.

"I must tell him…" She told herself over and over. "I must…" But how? His distress. Disbelief. Anger? Horror? Women like her were women that men like him did not marry. But that was nothing compared to losing his love. She had spurned him openly at the party that same evening she took Pamuk to her bed. She had seen Matthew's frown. His disgust at being thrown over.

He'd never love her again.

And that she could not take.

So she would tell him and let him go. Free him to find someone worthy of his love. Of being his wife.

Tears formed. She wiped them away as she aimlessly walked the Mall. Buckingham Palace's lights twinkled in the darkness. The cool night air making her tremble with goose pimples.

She would let him go and he would be better off without her.

Suddenly the air turned warm. Arid like a desert. A whirl of dust formed in front of her. Mary tried to step around it. But it enveloped her.

When she could see again, she was blinded by sunlight. Midday sunlight. And noise reached her ears. Loud music. Screaming children. And people. Lots of people. Dressed in the most indecent of under drawers and chemises to Mary's mind. And less…. She walked past a woman wearing practically nothing at all except the barest of materials covering her bosom. A brassiere as Mary had read in a fashion magazine, designed by Mary Phelps Jacob. But she had dared never wear one.

"Hey there honey," the woman asked in what sounded to Mary like an American accent. "Are you doing some kind of those costume dramas from TV? Can I get a picture with you?" And she pulled out a long stick with some kind of mirror on the end of it. Then threw her arm around Mary's shoulder. "Smile." And then a click and a "thank you…." And the woman walked on, leaving Mary bewildered and disoriented.

Where was she? How did she get here?

XX

Matthew had been unable to find her. He walked the streets of London day after day. The hours after the ball being the most frenetic. He had come back with their punch but she was no longer in the ball room. He thought maybe she had gone out for air on to the balcony. Had hoped so anyway. That way, perhaps, they would have some privacy. He'd be able to kiss her and hold her as he had wanted to do all evening. But Rosamund and Granny Violet's judging eyes preventing any such forwardness.

But Mary was not on the balcony. He asked some of her London acquaintances. They shook their heads and suggested he find Cora. Cora did not know either. Both went in opposite directions looking in all the rooms for her.

It was as if she had disappeared from the face of the earth.

Finally when all the guests had left, Sybil was informed. No one had wanted to spoil her fun and everyone assumed Mary had just retired upstairs with a headache. But Cora had checked her room more than once. It remained empty.

Sybil was alarmed. Perhaps the police should be called? Robert squashed that idea. It must be that she had told someone where she had gone and that person failed to relay the information to the family.

But no one really believed that. Matthew would most certainly have been informed. She would not have left the ball without telling him.

No something had happened. Someone had spoken to her. Rosamund said she'd call everyone she knew.

The family, upon his urging, had returned to York and to Downton. He would keep them informed by telephone. He stayed in London. Walking the streets day and night. Asking everyone from Sybil's ball had they seen or heard from Mary.

Also trying to work out the missing puzzle pieces. Trying to figure out what he had done to make Mary run away.

Unfortunately the gossip got out. Mary had run off from Sybil's ball. Right under Matthew's nose. The snickers as he asked questions became more and more obvious.

They seemed to know something he did not. 'The Bolter' some were already calling her. Run away to America to escape some kind of notoriety that Matthew had no clue discerning.

He knew nothing about it. After scouring London for days, he traveled down to Southampton to see if she was there, about to board one of the luxury liners. Of course it might have already sailed. And nothing could be confirmed for a few weeks. He had tried to send a Marconi gram but didn't know which shipping line or destination.

He was beginning to despair. Returning to London, he did not know how to proceed. It kept him up nights. Insomnia was now regular occurrence.

Late one night, ten days after Mary's disappearance, Matthew walked along the Mall. Across from the house where they had last danced. What had made her run away from him? What had he done? What was all the sniggering about? No one would tell him.

Mary was ever the enigma to him.

He walked, in a stupor, when a sudden haze of dust and wind caught him and blinded him. When his eyes opened again, he stood in the midst of a crowd of people, most ignoring the man in a suitcoat with waistcoat and high collar. And a bowler hat.

Matthew tilted his hat and scratched his head. "Where the hell am I?" his first coherent thought.

XX

 _I really want to know what you think of this! Please!_  
 _and so my rather silly time vortex story begins…._ _Remember this is meant to be taken with a wink and a smile—hand wave the details away please. Although not a long story it will actually get more serious as we go along—with Pamuk and WWI resurrecting themselves so to speak… and confessions will be made…and decisions about what to do now._

 _It will be continued on June 27 MM AU Day organized by Patsan._


	2. Chapter 2: It's all a bit Timey Wimey

_O wonder!_

 _How many godly creatures are there here!_

 _How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,_

 _That has such people in't._

— _William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act V, Scene I, ll._

XX

"You work in this shop?" Mary asked mystified. Shirley Simpkins, the owner of the clothing store Mary had stumbled onto her first day in this other time, gave her a probing look. This young woman fascinated her. She appeared in the street just outside her store, dressed in a classic Worth gown complete with reticule and elbow length gloves. She gave her name, in the haughtiest of tones, as Lady Mary Crawley. She had given her a singularly disdainful glance up and down as she spoke the title. As if she was not used to introducing herself directly to shop merchants.

It was all Shirley could do not to laugh. But something stopped her. This woman was quite serious. She was not an actress. Not a cosplayer of some sort. She seemed out of place. Genuinely a being from an earlier time. The stately movement of her body. Her regal bearing. Her obvious confusion with regards to how to cross the street. She had almost gotten killed right in front of her shop.

Shirley had called a "look out child" just in time for Mary to trot as best she could in those remarkably period accurate shoes without tripping or ripping the gown. She nearly fell right into Shirley's arms.

"My goodness." Was all the girl had said. And flicked a couple of loose strands of hair back across her coifed head. Coolly spoken, even as Shirley knew she was flustered as anyone she had ever met. But unwilling to let on. That's when she spoke her name. And Shirley brought her inside.

"Let me get the kettle on. We'll have a good chat." And she patted Mary's shoulder and led her inside. "Do you need to use the loo?"

Mary looked on blankly. "Loo?"

Shirley looked over the tip of her spectacles. "The toilet, love."

"Oh." Mary blanched. She actually did need to relieve herself. But here? Wherever here was? "Um… thank you."

"It's just the top of the stairs. Mind your head going up." And she pointed to a narrow ledge where one would have to duck around to get to the second landing.

Mary knew of course about modern plumbing. It had just been installed at Downton. She navigated the stairs and into cramped lavatory with barely room enough for her maneuver the train of the gown. After locating the toilet itself, a bit of grunting and struggling with the layers of material and the under drawers, she managed the task. Even in her time this chore was never an easy one.

She stood up, cleaned off, and reaffixed and smoothed her dress.

Then tentatively she took two fingers and pushed down gently on the single handle. There was no chain pull as she was used to. Nothing happened.

She could not just leave it as such. So she tried again. This time pushing down all the way and was reassured to hear the familiar flushing sound.

She finished her toilet and returned downstairs. This was all giving her a headache. The heat was unbearable. She felt sticky and in need of a long bath. But that room had only what looked like a glass box with some hoses and handles. No tub at all. And she certainly was not going to impose on this stranger's hospitality more than absolutely necessary.

But where else was she to go?

Why was she here? What was going on?

Shirley had put out a pot of tea and some fresh baked scones. She explained she owned the shop and lived on the top two floors along with two of her employees. "My waifs and stray" she called them. "Oh speak of the devils…." She said as Mary's eyes rounded and opened wide as two younger women staggered in and out joking around that they had gotten snookered the previous night and had just woken up. "Well at least you didn't bring that punter back here" one said. The other giggled "Oh but I might tonight." They then air kissed towards Shirley and left. "We'll be ready for the afternoon shift, Shirl, I promise."

Mary's head pounded. She had no idea what had happened to her. One minute walking the Mall trying to convince herself that Matthew would be better off without her. Then berating herself for being a coward and deciding that maybe she would tell him about Pamuk. About her disgrace.

And then she was here. London. Still the same, but absolutely different. The skyline alien. The streets more full of people than she had ever seen. Dressed so perversely, speaking so many different languages. She had wandered around several corners before attempting to cross the street to the one shop that seemed to cater to the clothing she had on.

And now found herself in this inadequate kitchen, drinking tepid tea. And feeling more out of her wits than at any time in her life. Including that night with Kemal Pamuk.

But Shirley was so friendly. And she needed a friend. Mary closed her eyes and tried to calm her nerves. She let the older woman chatter on about the shop, irritating customers, and pricing of vintage gowns.

Mary's eyes shot open at that. Money. She had no money. How was she live? Such a thought had never entered her head before. She never carried money. Completely distracted by this thought she was no longer listening to Shirley who was saying, "This dress? Is it for some kind of costume party?"

Mary looked down at her clothing. Yes, that was another thing. She was decidedly out of fashion. Her eyes narrowed. Something else that had never happened to her.

She must have walked through the looking glass. Or into a Wilkie Collins novel, the Woman in White or something. She had no idea what was happening. Or why. But she had to get on with things. Learn to adapt. At least until she figured out how to get back home.

She took a cue from the younger women in the flat. "I must have gotten in rather late." She fibbed. "And didn't have time to change…" Mary tried to appear as if she knew what she was talking about. She shrugged and her mouth gave a little moue of disgust.

Shirley accepted the story. Though she wasn't sure she believed it. This refined young lady did not look the type to sleep off a piss at a stranger's house.

"And… and" Mary decided to continue the lie "I believe I've been robbed." Her brow furrowed as she rummaged through the reticule, pretending to find something that was never there in the first place. "I've no place to go." She concluded the story. "I've … I've been removed from my house." Remembering how Sybil had threatened to run away with Branson and the idle threats of Robert to have Tom throttled. "My father…"

But she didn't even need to finish. "Oh dear…" Shirley's mothering instincts gave way to this young woman. She may be lying but she was obviously in some kind of trouble. "Well…. Let's see how I can help."

Mary gave her the most grateful of looks. And mentally apologized to her dear papa for perpetrating such a lie about him.

So Shirley had taken Mary under her wing. Along with the other girls who rented rooms in the floors above the shop. Had given her some clothes to wear. And tried to purchase the Worth gown and accoutrements. But acknowledging they were worth far more than she could pay, although the price Shirley quoted to Mary seemed more than adequate. Until she realized over the course of the next several weeks that the cost of everything was more than she could have imagined. They had ultimately arranged that in lieu of money, Shirley would pay for the gown in free room and board for Mary.

The gown took center stage in a display to draw in customers.

Mary had never thought she'd have to worry about a roof over her head. She'd either marry Matthew and become the Countess of Grantham of Downton Abbey one day. Or, if Matthew rejected her after the confession of taking a lover, marrying another. Someone second best. Cora would see that Mary settled well. Maybe not happily, but with a home and status in society.

But now, in this strange time, she was happy to accept Shirley's arrangement. For she could now finally breathe. She had gone to work for Shirley. And found it thrilling. The shop, a high end vintage establishment as she later learned, catered to a clientele Mary recognized. An aristocratic set who could afford the best.

It had a steep learning curve. One customer made so many demands on Mary and insinuating the girl was dawdling in retrieving a broach she wished to view, Mary retorted viciously "You can make all the scene you want, but it will still not improve your appearance. I can only work so many wonders."

The woman left in a huff. Shirley, none to pleased to lose a customer but still admiring Mary's acerbity, realized then she had found a kindred spirit. This girl would not suffer fools or take prisoners. It had reminded her of her own younger self.

And Mary's knowledge of early 20th century fashion Shirley found quite encompassing. Mary tried to study up on other periods of fashion as well as listening intently to her new flat mates to try to fit in. Antoinette and Kassidy took her to get her hair cut. She had chosen the blue highlights after one night at the local pub where she had seen another woman with the streaks in her hair. The tattoo came swiftly next. Along with the new wardrobe of '60s mod.

Antoinette had recommended the ankle length red boots to go along with the mini skirt and the tight jumper.

"I wouldn't dare." Mary had said. The skirt was so short. The jumper so revealing. And the boots, although she adored the ticking sound they made on the hardwood floors, so red she thought she was in a tart's boudoir. Her cheeks flamed as she tried all of it on at the back of the shop. Another thing to adjust to. No Anna. No servants at all. And dressing in front of strangers. She had never given thought to being undressed around the servants. That was just how it always was.

Her flat mates though, they giggled as she struggled with the hooks of the brassiere. "Do you not ever wear one before?" Kassidy had joked. "That's rather daring." But of course in Mary's life she had not…

It was positively and literally out of her known world.

"I'd definitely wear the boots and tights. Show off those legs. If I had those…." Kassidy added "I'd have half the men in London laying at my feet." Her own 5' always making her jealous of her long limbed friends.

Mary grinned wickedly. "Maybe I will…." And she did. She was fitting in and loving it. Disoriented and thrilled at the same instant seemed to suit her.

And then Matthew walked into the shop.

She had first thought it was his doppelganger. She had read of the term in mythology and poetry. For surely the real Matthew could not have crossed into this time to find her. So it must have been his double. Someone who merely looked like him. She had been helping a client with locating some jewelry. And in so doing walked past another couple perusing some brooches and earrings. The man had turned on a dime and spoken her name. She had noticed the passing resemblance to Matthew. But he was subtlety different. Hair a bit longer. But when he twisted around, it was the suit that made her do a double take. He was in a tuxedo. Looking similar enough to the man she had left at Sybil's ball to give her pause. Of course he was wearing white tie that night. But the jacket and collar, the blonde hair, were all so familiar.

He was so very handsome.

Then the voice. So rich. So lost. So very much Matthew. A guarded, hush whisper of her name "Mary?" Then as she tried to complete the transaction with the other client, a more confident, slightly desperate "Mary."

She was about to answer when she noticed the woman hanging about his shoulders. The woman had made sure Mary noticed. Especially with the kiss and the lipstick smudge. That had flummoxed Mary. Maybe she was wrong and it wasn't Matthew. But he knew her name.

And she knew it was Matthew. It had been about six months since they had seen each other. Since she had crossed into this time. It had never occurred to her that anyone else would follow. How could they? How did she? Yet here he was. And had wasted no time adjusting himself so she saw. The tux was new. Not vintage. Armani? Tom Ford? She would need a closer look. But it was expensive. As was the girl on his arm and the cash he paid for her gift.

He wanted to explain he said, at the door. When she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand, he left despondent.

What was there to explain? She had moved on. Adjusted. As had he. Could they really find each other again? Would it ever be the same? And she was still with her scandal in the past. At least in this 21st century life she had no worries there. At best the fact that a man was found dead in her bed may have trended on Twitter for a day or two…but would not ruin her life.

Maybe she didn't want to go back. Maybe she didn't want to see Matthew ever again. He represented her past. Explaining to him would still be explaining to a man of a previous century. With those attitudes and standards. With a judgmental stare. And a belief she was a fallen woman. A woman he could not love. A woman he could not marry.

No. She would not seek him out. And would ignore him should he come back. Deny she was the person he remembered. Maybe even threaten to call the coppers on him.

She laughed at that. A rather embittered laugh. She must move on and put Matthew behind her.

Into this brave new world.

Could she really do that?

XX

Matthew sat at the pub counter eating a sandwich. Slowly. For he had nothing else to do. It was over six weeks and he was down his last fiver. Luckily he had some cash in his billfold when he traveled to this other time. Because in the time before, he had been searching for Mary. In London. In Southampton. He had needed some ready funds and had withdrawn a sum of cash from his bank.

Initially he feared no one would even take his money. Because of the dates. And it was the wrong monarch as well. But most didn't give a second glance. But when some did, and refused to take his twenty, he had to assess the situation.

So instead he had gone to a coin dealer. Had idly asked how much could he get for the various pound notes and three gold sovereigns he showed the man behind the counter. When the man had responded with what Matthew thought was an astronomical sum, he gulped and accepted with as much disinterest as he could muster.

But it had all gone towards finding a place to live. And to eat. At first he stayed at a hotel. But that became too expensive and so had eventually settled in a youth hostel. Clothing was not as big a problem. He had gotten several odd looks from passersby within minutes of the time shift so had pulled off his stiff collar, opened up his jacket, and taken off the bowler hat. He had used some of his money to buy secondhand clothes at an Oxfam he had found by wandering the streets of London and examining what others were wearing. He chose trousers and an open collar shirt. Kept his shoes. And bought a bag to put the rest of his clothes in.

Once the immediate needs were met, Matthew had spent the next few days reading everything he could get his hands on. He observed people carrying rectangular objects in their hand that they seem to use to type words on and hold up to their ear. He was constantly trying to doff a non-existent hat and say "Oh I say, Excuse me" to people who bumped into him oblivious to their surroundings.

He scratched his head in confused bemusement over it. He finally figured out it was a kind of modern mechanical telephone when he sat down for a meal and could hear conversations on the devices. And eavesdrop at the table next when they typed on the mirrored screen.

Such modern conveniences he would have to master had he hoped to secure a job.

So a great deal of time was spent observing the people around him. Taking up conversations with people at restaurants and pubs to learn modern vernacular. Hours spent at various London libraries boning up on the multitude of changes to the law. So many changes. Flabbergasted by all the intricacies of computers and the internet at first. Although observing others using portable devices that had a typewriter and some kind of mirrored glass rather than paper to view what they had written, he had not clue one as to how use such a mechanical wonder to find what he needed.

And he was stymied by the lack of permits. Many of the law libraries he found required he present his solicitor's license or complete a form inviting him to present his academic credentials. Since he had neither, he had to reassess how to access the information he needed. He ended up at the large central London Public Library trying simply to read relevant updates on property and industrial law in Blackstone's Statutes. Also trying not to appear completely a fish out of water, he used his university German to pretend (which was not hard…) that he did not know how to use the UK system of accessing information on the computers. A word he now knew to use from eavesdropping on conversations and reading magazines.

He quietly approached the two young women at the circulation desk. "guten Morgen." He smiled. "Erm…Ich brauche Hilfe. Uh." Switching to heavily accented English, "I need some help." And the combination of the accent and a pair of warm, pleading eyes it had worked. And had almost gotten several dates with the librarians who took pity on the handsome foreigner.

Over the course of the next several weeks he read and absorbed as much as he could.

Now the goal was twofold. Find Mary for he was now convinced that his trip to this Neverland was inextricably linked to her disappearance. Find Mary, find a way for them both to return home. In the meantime, as his scouring of London had not resulted in one single encounter with her, he had to find a job.

He had obviously somehow moved exactly 100 years into the future. He knew that because of all the centenary commemorations he read in the papers. As soon as this time shift had occurred, he had stopped at a news agent and spent some coins on various newspapers. What he found however, in the pages of the news chilled him. One hundred years ago almost to the month he had left, a war will start. A war that would see the deaths of almost one million British soldiers. Matthew read all this, a growing horror in his bones. He had known that war was imminent. The talk all over London that July 1914 had turned from Ireland to Germany. To the Balkans. But he had no idea of the scale it would take.

And the deaths. He had taken a somber visit to the Tower of London that day. Saw for himself the installation of upwards of a million symbolic poppies, spilling down from the walls of the ancient fortress and onto the lawn, mixing the green with the red. The red of the poppies. Of blood. Of the symbol of the sacrifice of millions. The flower of manhood, the tourist brochure had said. A lost generation.

Including his own when he went back? If he went back? Walking that day around the tower, he knew he had to go. His duty, whatever that perplexing word meant, required it.

But first things first. He still needed to eat and sleep and the money he currently had in his pockets would not last but a few more weeks. He knew if he was to ever find a job it would have to be in the law.

So here he sat. In the pub around the corner from the library. He had taken some time away to grab a sandwich and water. And listen to the flow of conversation around him. Picking up the threat of talk of the two well-groomed men sitting next to him at the pub counter.

They were talking about overseeing the transformation of a piece of property from ordinary flats to high-security condominiums at a cost of about £8bn.

The older man was clearly unhappy with the progress of the property development. The younger man, sweating and eager to please, threw all the blame on the local authorities "fucking delays" and the bank's bureaucratic auditing practices.

The man in charge waved a dismissive hand. "Then get on them and lean harder. This needs to be in my hands within the next month or else we'll lose the property." He motioned for another drink. And in so doing turned in Matthew's direction.

The moment arrived. Matthew leaped in and said in a cool, detached manner, "You should never trust a bank with property, or a local property developer with your money." He then arched an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink. He noticed his hand was shaking with anticipation and nerves. He needed to impress this guy and fast.

It had turned out that Matthew had read an article just that morning on how these new corporate entities were ripping up old neighborhoods, framed in terminology of "long-term stewardship" and "adding value," they were essentially mimicking the aristocratic domains of Matthew's time. Matthew had long suspected that such estates as Downton were untenable in the 20th century. But given his position as only heir apparent, he never quite knew how to bring the subject up with Robert. And he had learned so much from the older man about the interconnectedness between the estate and the people who lived and had their livelihood sustained by Robert's governance. A paternalistic control, though Matthew long suspected, that was based too much in the old and not enough in the modern.

And now he saw the results of such noblesse oblige. Most of the estates of Robert's vintage had long been sold off or razed to the ground. The captains of industry had won. And were now tearing up all sorts of old neighborhoods for their own private gain. Whether he agreed with the practice or not, he had to cast his future with the winners. Replacing entitled aristocrats with corporate executives was simple enough. They were both insufferable in their arrogance and assured status as virtual gods of their domains. He knew how to stroke such fragile egos. And it would be satisfying for once to use at least some of his past familiarity and diplomatic skills and use it to get a job.

The man spat an excited approval. "Exactly. Put the thumbscrews to 'em and keep them where we want them." Pointing an accusatory finger to his chagrined employee, he growled, "And I don't want the Qataris or other foreigners to get to this property first."

Matthew stroked his neck slowy with his fingers and grunted what he hoped was the appropriate sound of approval. "You want to use Section 106 of the Town and Country Planning Act to make it in the local authorities' best interest to allow your scheme to continue. Give them something small but meaningful so that they can go back to their councils and get their approval. You could offer up some kind of public park or health centre." He was completely talking out his arsehole he told himself, but part of the trick was to make it just sound like he knew what he was saying.

And it worked. "Roger Fedden." The man held out his hand to Matthew. "Do you have time to talk?"

Matthew accepted Fedden's business card. He clasped the card in his shaking hand and internally breathed a heavy sigh. Against the glower of the sacked employee who stared daggers in Matthew's direction, Fedden arranged for Matthew to meet up with him later at a club he owned around the corner. "We can get a private table and talk over some things."

And that was how Matthew got his job. He smiled slowly and agreed to the meeting. Never let them see you sweat worked in any time.

When he arrived at the club, he had showered and changed. Put on the one suit he owned, a combination of old waistcoat and tie and new trousers and shirt. Matthew's later assertion that he had entered "Dante's ninth circle of hell" was to his mind no exaggeration. The 'private club' catered to a business clientele. But one who indulged in the delights of the flesh as well. Half clad, barely clad or not all clad in much of anything women strutted around from table to table, taking orders and whispering in ears, and sitting on the gentleman's lap (or otherwise engaged…) when asked.

Matthew desperately tried not to stare. Not to look like the country bumpkin in the big city. But he had never seen such overt sexual practices on display. It both aroused and repelled him.

Fedden looked on indulgently as Matthew apprehensively fingered the collar of his shirt. "Have one of these." And he handed Matthew what looked on his initial glance as a combination of a fountain pen and a metal tube. He blinked rapidly. What the hell is that?

The older man said with a gruff, "The wife wanted me to give up the smokes, so I've switched to these." And he inhaled slowly and in a controlled manner puffed for three or four seconds before putting it down. "Not as enjoyable as a good fag, but it's not bad." The smoke, or vapor as Matthew realized came out his mouth, but without the smell or acrid aroma of nicotine.

Matthew tentatively put his own to his mouth and tried to imitate Fedden. He almost choked as a liquid filled his mouth. "Drag it out longer." Fedden joked. "Short puffs will pull the e-liquid into your mouth." And he demonstrated the long drag technique.

Matthew saw back with a growing headache. And apprehension that he'd ever master living in the 21st century.

But he got the job. On a cash retainer after recovering from the vaping incident and concocting a story of just arriving from New Zealand (that was far enough away right?) and not having his accounts up to date… etc etc… He ended on his education. At least that was something that was not an outright lie. He had studied law at Oxford. He was a practicing solicitor. But one currently at loose ends.

That was for sure.

"Where are you living then?" Fedden leaned in closer. "We've got room at the house. And my son could use some help at school." Fedden had been more than impressed at Matthew's skill and knowledge. He didn't want this fish to get away. His team of lawyers came and went on how well they worked under his close scrutiny. And this one, although he could tell was keeping something back, was cool under fire.

"Help?" Matthew's voice only slightly unsteady. He did want another place to live. The cramped hostel was barely a bed and a bath.

"Latin is giving him shits." Fedden sounded disgusted. "But he needs it to get into Oxford."

Matthew knew that well enough. "I could help out a bit." His Latin was as rusty as his German but passable. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was in.

And so it was agreed to. Matthew moved to the Kensington garden detached house that afternoon. His room was a bit small and at the top of the third stairs, but quiet.

He laid down on the bed and for the first time since his arrival in this time felt at peace.

Now to find Mary. And complete whatever journey God or fate had bestowed on them. She had to be here too. Why else was he thrown here? If not to find her. To help her in some way.

She just had to be here. In London. He just had no idea where.

"Mary." He pleaded out into the night air. An invocation. A wish. "I need to kiss you."

XX

"Marriage can be fun." Kassidy said, opening the door to the Red Lion. Antoinette and Mary followed. Antoinette guffawed "Yeah for the man. He gets it all from you and you're stuck with the babies and the chores. And he's out again with his mates, leaving you at home."

Mary stayed out of their discussion for it seemed to her that women had so many more rights and freedoms in this time than she could ever have hoped for. Yet here her flat mates were, still saying that the men held women in rules of their own making, for their own benefit. Maybe some things had not changed. Mary excused herself and went to the lavatory.

The others moved towards the bar.

Kassidy rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous." And then retorted. "I need a stiff one…." Double entrendre or not, she wanted a vodka tonic. Moving towards the bar she glanced around, hearing some raucous laughter come from one of the benches in the corner.

"Oi Chris!" She cried out in surprise. "You better not be tying one on tonight as well. You'll be in no shape for the booze up on Saturday." This was Thursday and she and her intended's stag and hen parties were to be over the week end. The wedding being the following Friday at the register's office.

"I got it well in hand girl, don't you worry." Chris Hardwick was one of Todd's best men. He had no intention of missing out on the pub crawl over the week end. "We're just celebrating our new boy's here victory." And he pointed down the booth to the attractive blonde man putting a pint to his mouth.

Antoinette certainly took notice. "Oooh." And she sidled down next to Matthew, who gulped noisily as her hand slipped down next to his thigh and started a quick squeeze. "What did you do love?"

Just then Mary appeared next to Antoinette. Her eyes bugging out at her friend's cheekiness. And the man receiving the ministrations.

Matthew's face flushed to a bright pink upon seeing Mary. Under these circs of all things.

He was a bit worse for wear. Having not seen her since that afternoon in the vintage shop. Where she had given him the cold shoulder. Mostly he was sure because of Susanna. His current burden, Susanna. She was Fedden's daughter. And he had been asked as another obligation to stay rent free at the residence, to ..uh take care of her. Which mostly meant he was to indulge her crush upon him. He found her to be a silly poor little rich girl. Used to getting her way. Pretty in her own way. Nice enough.

Didn't hold a candle to Mary though. Only made him lonely for her.

He would have raced back to see Mary had she not given him the brush off. And then Susanna wouldn't let him out of her sight the rest of the evening. She had seen his attentions towards "that shop girl" as she insisted upon calling her, and determined that Matthew would pay the price for his straying eye. And he didn't want her running back to Daddy, so he left it to the next day.

Where he was then thwarted by Fedden wanting to take him to the property site. The one by Nine Elms and the new US Embassy. Which took all day. But they had convinced the local councils to give them what they wanted, and as a reward Matthew received a bonus.

And now the rest of the crew took him out to celebrate.

Only he was not in the mood for a celebration. He still had not gone back to see Mary. Maybe she didn't want to see him. Maybe their past baggage, their troubles, were too much for her. She was free of him here. Maybe she didn't want him leading her down the same path again. He had not understood why she took so long to answer his proposal. He had hoped for a response at Sybil's ball when she had disappeared.

Only to appear here. God she was beautiful. Mary had always been lovely. A goddess, with alabaster skin, a high forehead, and wide set brown eyes. But the woman he saw in the shop, a kind of modern Mary, whose blue hair and tantalizing tattoo had invaded all his dreams of late, she drove him to a kind of madness of desire. Arousing, sweetly painful dreams.

And she was here. Mary. Here. Finally. Everything would be made clear this night.

He shook his head vigorously, trying to recover his senses. Mary still stood opposite him. Next to Kassidy. Antoinette remained seated next to Matthew, who moved away from Antoinette's grip upon his trouser leg.

Chris answered Kassidy's request for introductions. "These are my work mates. Claire, Melisa, and Matthew. Matthew got the old man what he wanted this afternoon and we're all 'ere celebrating on his tab."

Matthew flushed again. It had been Chris's idea to go to the pub. He didn't want to disappoint the others so he agreed. Spread the joy around, make some good will. They had been making a weekly thing of it, the trip to the Red Lion and it seemed to Matthew it was his time to pay the bills.

But now Mary was here. And he needed to sober up quickly. He had perhaps been indulging too much of late. But the encounter with Mary had been disconcerting. And had left him depressed.

Mary could see that immediately. Had she brought him to this sad state? But didn't he deserve it, she reminded herself as Kassidy repaid the request by introducing her friends. He had crossed time and space to find her, only to get discouraged and taken up with another woman within a few months of her presumed disappearance.

Mary noticed Matthew peering at her over the top of his pint glass. Contemplating her.

"Congratulations." She finally said. "I do hope we're not interrupting."

Matthew stared at her. That was the very first thing she had ever said to him. When he had been such a prig about having one of Cousin Robert's daughters pushed upon his bachelor status.

"You're not interrupting at all." He rejoined, his voice deep and soft. "Delighted to have some more company."

"Oooh listen to him will you, delighted I'm sure." Melisa joked, seated next to him on the right along the bench. "And me never getting a civil word out of him." And poked Matthew with her elbow.

"You don't deserve it." Matthew jested back and they both laughed. Melisa had been particularly kind to Matthew and they got on well.

"Thank you." Mary said, taking the seat opposite Matthew. "I wouldn't want to push in."

Matthew nearly choked. She was idly playing with her hair, looking straight into his eyes. Was she playing with him? Could he hope she was actually flirting? He took the last sip of his ale. And turned back to Mary. "Why don't I get you something? A glass of wine perhaps?"

Mary replied thinking of the drink Antoinette ordered when she wanted to take the piss out of a guy coming on to her, "Perhaps a tequila?" And she licked her tongue slowly, indulgently around her mouth. "Got any salt?"

Matthew's eyes grew large and he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Damn she had taken to this time and all.

To whoops and slaps on the table all around they ordered a round of tequila, licked the salt off their hands and downed it in one drowning the taste by sinking their teeth into slices of lime citrus.

"That's such a girlie drink." Chris complained. "Gimme some lager." And he pushed his chair back to get some at the bar counter.

Matthew leaned over the table. "Maybe that's enough for right now." Her eyes had become unfocused after downing the drink. He had no idea she even knew about hard liquor. "I'm not sure you understand how that affects your faculties."

"I know exactly what it does." Mary said, "And I like it." She narrowed her eyes and looked over at him. "Perhaps I should teach you." And she held out the bottle. "I will hold it steady and you can help yourself. You'll soon get used to it."

Matthew's mouth fell open. She was intentionally replaying their initial combativeness upon first meeting each other. Her haughty words about him not being able to hold his fork properly. His anger at their condescension.

"Yes." He said, replaying the words of that long ago conversation in his mind. "I know. Thank you. And it's true, I am accustomed to a very different life than this."

"That's for sure." Mary replied, her voice a whispered hush only Matthew could hear.

The conversation swirled around them as they sat and drank in each other's presence. Then the reverie was broken by Claire's squeal. "King Cepheus!" She called out triumphantly, answering the repeated pub quiz question appearing on the screen above the bar. And she held out her sparkling water glass as a toast to Matthew. "Wouldn't have gotten that one in a million except for you."

"Glad to help." And he looked slyly over at Mary. She was smiling back at him.

"The sea monster didn't get her did he?" She said.

"No." Matthew replied. "She was rescued." He couldn't take his eyes off her now.

"By Perseus, son of a god." She took his outstretched hand. "Rather more fitting, wouldn't you say?" And a tear formed at the side of her eye. Oh she had missed him.

"That depends. I'd have to know more about the princess in question." He squeezed her fingers. "Who knows? Perhaps they were well suited."

They could keep apart no longer. Their heads came together across the expanse of the table. "I'm so very glad to see you." Matthew said quickly trying to take advantage of the thaw in her demeanor. "I have so much to tell you. To ask you. But you must know I was not with Susanna that day in the manner you thought. She's my employer's daughter. I was... I was merely indulging her. We were to meet her friends and go to a concert. It's sort of part of my duties." He brushed his finger against her cheek. "I could never do anything to hurt you."

Mary nodded. "I see. Part of your job?"

"More or less. I live with them. Ever since… well ever since I got here." The noise at the table rose in decibel. They had still so much to talk about.

"What about you?" He asked. So much to talk about, but he didn't want to do it now. Now he just wanted to live in this moment.

"I live with the owner of the shop you saw me in." She smirked playfully, knowing how alien such a sentence would have been to the Mary he had last known. "She took pity on me and I'm very grateful."

Matthew's face must have shown his astonishment. "Don't look at me like that." She said, "I have learned a thing or two."

"I can very well believe that." He eyed her tattoo, displayed on her bare shoulder. He longed to kiss it. But they needed some privacy. He got up and took her hand. They walked over to the dart board.

"Watch out Mary" Chris warned. "I almost got killed last time he threw darts."

"Then stay well out of it." Matthew rejoined and turned back to Mary. "Pay him no mind. I'm actually quite good."

"Better than the coconut saloon game?" She teased. Another memory. The local fair. Matthew digging in his pocket for change. Not hitting a single thing as he was distracted by Mary's presence and the subject of the "Great Matter." The thing that had kept them apart. The estate had been entailed to Matthew. Mary resented him. Or so he had thought. "My life makes me angry, not you." She had replied to his apology.

It had given him hope. Hope that a relationship might just blossom between them. And it had. They had learned to have good arguments and indulge in the wit and banter they both thrived upon. And he had proposed. And she had almost accepted. At that late night tete a tete in the dining room. The table with the sandwiches, and the wine, and the strawberries he remembered her putting slowly in her mouth and sinking her teeth into the sweet fruit. Squeezing her lips around it and driving him mad.

As she was again this night, in this new time.

"Don't play with me." He said picking up the darts from the dish under the board. "I don't deserve it."

"Oh I don't know." Mary said, moving closer to him. "You're quite the flirt. First Sybil. Now this Susanna. Careful who's heart you'll be breaking next."

"And can I count you among those conquests?" He said, into her ear. Brushing it with his lips.

"I don't know." She swept curled strands of her hair back against her head. So that they tickled his skin as he stood next to her. "Maybe you're just mocking me."

"You gave me quite the brush off the other day." Matthew's voice grew deeper. "It lives fresh in my memory."

Their eyes met. "Oh Matthew, what am I always telling you? You must pay no attention to the things I say."

The kiss, after that memorable exchange, was inevitable. As inevitable as it was bittersweet.

There was still so much to tell him. So much that could potentially hurt not now. Not in this moment. Now they were grateful to just know the other lived. The other still cared. The other still loved.

Lips met. His arms encompassed hers and made little circles with his fingers moving back to front and up and down her back, made her body shiver. Their bodies molded together. Flesh to flesh. A delightful frisson that both satiated them and left them wanting more. They exhaled, suddenly aware of their closeness.

"Let's get out of here." Matthew said. "I can get us a taxi."

Mary nodded. She too wanted to leave. To be with Matthew. But first she needed to explain why she had disappeared from the ball. Before they could move on with this life, or somehow return to the lives they knew best, an expiation was necessary.

And he would despise her after all.

XX  
 _HAPPY AU DAY! Please review. I soooo appreciated all your kind words about the first chapter. It made my day, my week, my month! This story does require some handwaving on the time travel issue… but it's fun right? And it's purpose will be made clear in the next chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3: Woke Up in London Yesterday

H _i! Now everyone has their own views of course on the Mary/Pamuk incident as well as how Matthew would have reacted had he been told earlier. I tackle these delicate issues with a certain amount of hesitancy. I don't want to ignore the issues of forced sexual assault but I also don't want that to be the main focus of discussion. It wasn't in the canon story (and that's another debate for another time). I want to focus on Mary and Matthew's relationship. And there too I have differing opinions regarding Matthew's outlook on sexuality. I see him clearly as a man not defined by previous generations of double standards and the male ego. Nor do I see him as a prude. Being a gentleman does not make him a dull boy. :) nor an inexperienced one..._

XX

 _Lost time is never found again..." Benjamin Franklin_

They reached the outside within minutes of the decision to abandon their respective friends and retreat to a place where they could talk more freely.

Mary said, "But I need to tell Shirley…" but her words trailed off. Tell Shirley exactly what? That she'd met a man an hour ago and was already leaving with him? That Shirley shouldn't worry?

Her obvious ill-ease made Matthew pause. "Look." He said, taking her hand. He realized he needed to be in physical contact with her since first spying her at the table. As if to make himself believe it was real. Flesh. Bones. Skin.

Mary.

"I'll pay up make our excuses. You go wait outside." He quirked an eyebrow and pursed his lips, realizing Mary's dilemma was also his own. But wasn't it allowed in the 21st century? Going off with a girl you just met? Expected even, someone of his age? He tried to reassure her. "I'll think of something."

She moved towards the way out. There was so much to tell Matthew that a long explanatory conversation with her motherly boss was something Mary wasn't sure she was up to. Not right now.

Matthew fielded his way around several sodden soaked and rowdy rugby players and back to the corner bench.

"We're just going to get some air, right?" And he handed some cash to Melisa. She gave him a questioning look, but nodded.

It was Shirley who laid out her hand and stopped him. Her fingers gripped tight around his forearm, pushing him closer to her face. She had arrived late and missed the introductions.

"What do you want with that girl?" Her eyes bored into his. "I've been watching you. You pegged her from the get go. Think she's an easy target?" Her fingers gripped until Matthew squirmed under the pressure. "Think again…"

Matthew, despite the pain in his arm, rather admired this woman. She clearly held enormous affection for Mary.

"You slip something in her drink?" Shirley's eyes narrowed.

"What?" Matthew's boyhood Mancunian accent coming to the fore. He noticed that more and more the longer he lived here that the refined speech of an earlier era was to be used only on certain occasions. When as Fedden so bluntly put it, "use that Oxford shit to impress the punters."

Here the accent was sharpened by confusion. Slip something in her drink? Like a Mickey Finn? Why would he ever do that? He stared wide-eyed back at Shirley, "No." But it was clear from her dagger eyed look that she didn't believe him.

Melisa leaned over. "He's a good bloke." Softly spoken to the older woman. "He'd never do anything like that."

Shirley released her grip on his arm. "Be sure you don't." Her words snappish.

Matthew gave his friend a look of eternal gratitude and left quickly. In case Shirley changed her mind.

When he got outside, Mary wondered why he was rubbing his arm and flexing his hand. Trying to get the circulation back, he thought ruefully to himself. He shook it and it felt better.

"Shirley is like a mother wolf to her cub." He said, pulling her close to him. "She warned me good and clear."

Mary put her head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her. "I was very lucky to find her. I had no idea what had happened and I stumbled on her shop as if by fate."

Matthew's head snuggled closer to her own. "Maybe it was." His own the same. Stumbling onto a good job. A life he could very easily live in this future.

Was that the test?

He kissed her hair, her neck.

What did it all mean?

He didn't know. Right now he was just glad to have found Mary.

"I missed you so much." He whispered. "I looked everywhere for you." He hugged her tight. "Then and …. When I ended up here, I kept looking."

She put her head back up to look at his face. It was etched with relief and worry. "Did you?" She wondered if he would do the same after she told him her story.

"Of course I did." And he brought her lips towards his own. Long, lingering wisps of kisses. His lips danced and touched along hers. His tongue making her shiver as it slipped around her mouth.

"Cousin Matthew," Mary whispered playfully at his earlobe. "What boldness."

"Here it seems," his response making her skin tingle with anticipation, "all things are possible." And the next kiss she met with equal passion. The pressure making her lips all the more desirable, Matthew thought. He had to watch himself. The allowances made for sexual release in this century were so much more than in his time. But how many liberties was he allowed?

Mary moaned into his mouth. "We'd better watch out then?" She put her hands up to his hair and pushed him closer to her. Her lips grazed hungrily along his cheek bone.

"You're right," Matthew's voice ragged, pulsated at her touch. "We should." But their mouths belied that truth. Their lips met again, lightly and sweetly then more intense as each needed to fill the cavernous gap in time and space with physical touch.

They got bumped by several people as their clenched kiss continued. Finally only releasing when coming up for air.

"I think we're causing something of a commotion." Matthew laughed. "Perhaps I should get you a taxi." He looked down the busy street.

She looked unhappy. "What? No…"

He did a double take from the street back to her. "I… I" He pulled his cheek with his fingers. "I'm not sure we should be alone together." He tried to be heard over the noise of the street.

Mary's hand stayed his arm. "Why?" Her own voice growing husky. "Maybe I want you to carry me up naked." Her eyebrows arched in his direction.

He gasped at her self-assurance. "Your father…" He smiled bashfully, "Your father would not approve."

She mocked mildly, "You need to get more with the times…"

"That's just what I afraid of." And he brought her close again. "I want to do things properly. We're not even engaged." He stuttered over his words. They caught in the chatter of the street, but she heard them.

The words stopped Mary in her tracks. This was why she loved Matthew. This she knew now more than ever. He knew the boundaries of decorum could be thrown off in this new, more daring time period they found themselves mysteriously in. She knew he wanted to. She could feel his intense passion in their kiss. In his touch. In his body.

But he would not. For he was a gentleman of his era. And gentleman respected those they loved. Propriety demanded first the declaration of love, then the acceptance of a proposal to bind their lives sacredly together, a wedding, then –and only then—the consummation physically of the love they had declared to all who had gathered to celebrate and affirm that love.

But her words to her mother came back to her… again. "If I didn't, I'd feel as if I'd caught him in a lie." Several lifetimes later, she still had the same dilemma. Tell him and see his wounded face. His potential disgust. See him walk away and out of her life.

See herself lost in this time now. Truly alone.

Or not tell him at all and live a lie. And make their marriage a lie. Doomed to failure as her guilt ate up any trust between them.

Her fingers brushed his cheeks. "I see." He turned to meet her eyes, keen and needy. The look of love in them took her breath away. How could she hurt him?

She took a deep breath. "I will give you an answer to that proposal. I will give it to you tonight."

His face lit up with anticipation.

"But first I have to talk with you." A car horn burst the air around them. She flinched. "Not here though. Where can we go?"

Matthew looked at her searchingly. What is making her hesitate? Surely her love, so passionately spoken in her kisses, could also be told in words?

He tried to focus. "Um…" He said a nervous tension obvious in his voice, "We could go back to my rooms. The Feddens are at their country house this week end. I'm… I'm the only one there."

She gave him a grateful look. Grateful that he would let her explain without recrimination. "Let's go there then."

They linked arms and he guided her down several streets towards the leafy neighborhood of Kensington Square. He had a key to the private gated entrance. Matthew opened it and let Mary through. They then entered the house and she walked around the spacious living room while he fumbled for a light switch.

"Well." He said, "Here we are." The room was decorated in ultra-sleek, modern design. Low sofas and clean lined tables. It was, to Matthew's way of mind, a perfect reflection of Margary Fedden. She was the cold blooded brains behind Fedden's success. He was all bluster and worked the public image. She was a bean counter and knew where all the bodies were buried.

Margary and Matthew understood each other. They saw the truth in the other. She saw a young man finally able to keep her wayward husband under a modicum of control. He knew the best way to keep his position was to keep this woman as an ally.

"It's very nice." Mary's eyes swept around the room. "A bit austere." Another glance. "And a bit small compared to the library at Downton." She elegantly swiveled back to Matthew.

Matthew chortled. "You should see my room."

"I intend to, don't I?" She smirked playfully and took his outstretched hand.

"Get read to visit the servants quarters then." And he led her to the staircase and up three flights.

"I'm not allowed up here at home. Not without Mama's permission." She told Matthew. "The women's quarters are secured tight. Only Mrs. Hughes is allowed to turn the key to the men's side."

Matthew's lips pursed in amusement. "I promise to make no unwarranted incursion then." He kissed her lightly. "When we return home."

She tried to laugh. How so very different he was from all the other men who had been in her life. She was too ashamed to tell him about her secret sneaking around the upper floors of Downton with the Duke of Crowborough.

What she was to tell him was far, far worse.

They reached his room at the end of the corridor. Simple but clean, a bed and linen closet. A table for his work. A window that looked out onto the gardens. The low ceiling meant he had to duck his head to get around.

"It's all I need really." He said almost as an apology for the tight quarters. "I was damned lucky to get it."

And he motioned for her to sit on the bed. "I'll take a chair." And he pulled it around from the desk.

He sat, jittery with expectation at what she wanted to tell him. Was it really his position as a lowly solicitor? That she didn't love him enough to overcome those precious social barriers so apparent in her parents' generation.

He bit the side of his mouth.

Mary sat opposite. She folded her hands on her lap.

"Do you remember the Turkish diplomat that visited last…" she hesitated. "Well in our time period…visited last year." This was going to be hard enough without any temporal confusion.

"Yes." He said, mystified. "How could one forget someone found dead in their own bed?"

How indeed, Mary thought to herself. Instead her memory was one of weighted pressure on her body. Limp. Lifeless. Dead eyed.

She shuddered. "Well that's the thing." She was twisting her hands together in knots.

He looked so trusting. How could she do this to him?

"He didn't die in his own bed." She deliberately looked Matthew in the eye. Steady voiced. "He died in mine."

Matthew frowned. Blinked. "What?"

"He was in my bed. We were…"She swallowed the bile at the back of her throat. "He was making love to me."

He was wide eyed now with disbelief. Unspoken words at his mouth, his lips moving but nothing coming out.

"Say something…if it's only goodbye."

"You let him into your bed?" He was distraught now, flustered with this confession. He hardly knew how to respond.

"Yes… well no." She pushed her palm against her forehead. "He entered my bedroom without permission. He pushed his way in after everyone else had gone to bed."

"How did he know where it was?" Matthew wasn't sure he knew exactly the location of Mary's bedroom. He knew the corridor but not the room. "Who opened the door? Why did you let him in?"

"Why is it important Matthew? You'll just hurt yourself with the details."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to make you relive it. I'm….I'm just trying to understand."

"I don't know how he knew where my room was located. Someone must have told him. Or he just tried various rooms." She knew that Crowborough thought nothing of opening doors at will, so maybe Pamuk was the same. "He entered my room unannounced. I was already in my night clothes."

Matthew's eyes closed in pain. "The cad." He spat out. "The bastard."

"I told him to go. He would not. I threatened to scream or ring the bell for Anna but he said I would not." And she was ashamed that he had been right. She had not screamed. For the scandal was already upon her. Just having a man in the room was enough to declare her a ruined woman. As Pamuk well knew.

As Matthew knew. He gripped the sidearms of the chair to control his temper against a man long dead. And the cause of Mary's agony. He tried to concentrate on that. On the fact that Pamuk took advantage of a naïve young woman. That he was the lowest form of a man.

Concentrate on that man, he told himself. Not on the images that kept crowding them out. Images of Mary in a state of lust. Mary making love to him.

A man who was not he. Did he want it to be him in Mary's bed? Of course he did. But to admit such would be admitting that he was the equal of Pamuk. And that would not do.

"Did you love him?" He asked, grasping for an answer that would suit. That would save her from any scandal.

"How could it be love?" She responded truthfully. "We rode to the hunt. I barely knew him. You saw everything." Mary bitterly regretted how she had treated Matthew that night. She barely acknowledged his existence. And only then to blatantly ignore any attention or comment he bestowed on her.

Matthew looked askance at that comment. Yes he had. How it had pained him to see her chatting and trifling with his affection. Mary most certainly thought she had the game well in hand. Bees around the queen, she had been in her element at dinner. He had watched them intently. He had been full of sourness. A 'wet blanket' she would probably have called him. He had wanted to leave. But endured being ignored all through dinner and the after conversation. He realized later he had been shunted off by Mary and onto her younger sister Edith. Like second best. The sea monster not worthy of the princess. Was it really so?

"I saw you leave the room once. He followed you." He turned back to meet her eyes. They were so sad. He wanted to kiss her. But dared not. Not yet. "Did he threaten you or something? You returned with a particular look that concerned me greatly." Why hadn't he said anything? Why did he let it go? Matthew searched his memory, but could only recall that he believed Mary did not want him to approach her. She had made her affections elsewhere that night.

He should have said something to her. Maybe he could have prevented all of it from happening?

"I did leave the room. I… I followed Mr. Pamuk into the solar. He made some idle conversation then pushed me against the wall and kissed me." She could feel the visceral strength of his weight, pinning her. She had thought it vile and thrilling all at the same time.

Matthew could only look on in complete disbelief. He had known none of this. It simply would never have occurred to him that a gentleman would engage in such behavior as the guest of a peer of the realm. Especially towards the man's daughter. Within eye and ear shot of other guests.

And yet no one knew anything was amiss. They all sipped their liqueurs and made small talk. All the while that man took advantage of Mary. He was full of self loathing.

"I tried to tell him he'd be cast into the darkness of the night should my father see, but he insisted that he would come to me, that night." She frowned. "I simply didn't believe him. Thought he was just making blustery talk. To… to provoke me somehow."

"It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong." Matthew tried to keep a calm voice. "He is solely to blame for his actions. No gentleman would act as such."

"But I didn't send him away, Matthew. Later. I let him stay." She remembered her own words to the man in her bed. "What difference does it make? I have fallen in the eyes of society. I am impure. Made different. I can see it in your eyes. You look at me differently now." She could barely look him in the eyes. They reflected such hurt, such agony. "You're disgusted with me. You despise me for not being the person you believed I was. And I deserve it. I am Tess of the d'Urbevilles to your Angel Clare."

He said quickly. "Never. Don't make it little. He took advantage. You were afraid. Scared. I don't know… he must have pressured you in some way." The visions returned of the two of them in Mary's bed. But this time, more violent, hideous images of Pamuk's rapacious desires being played out on an innocent victim. "It's just as good he died. For if I had known what was his conniving plan, I'd have strangled him with my bare hands." It tortured him to think he had done nothing.

Mary smiled despite herself. "My knight in shining armor come to my rescue." She pulled a stray forelock away from his eyes. "But then they might have put you away and then where would we be."

He let a moment pass. She had thought it all innocent. Was playing the game as she always had. Only this time Pamuk was the more experienced player. And he upped the stakes beyond anything she had expected.

But the image of strangling him brought on another conundrum. "How..." he took a breath. "Erm...how did you move him back to the bachelor's wing?" It was located on the other wing of the house.

"I enlisted Anna's help." Mary's voice was soft but determined to tell all. "She said the two of us couldn't do it alone, so we woke up Mama."

Matthew was all astonishment. But somehow not surprised by her being cool under pressure. There was a core strength to Mary even she had yet started to fathom. "But someone saw?"

"Yes. But I didn't know that until the rumors started in London. I've not discovered who. Or how?" That still plagued Mary. Someone at Downton obviously.

"No one in the family surely?" Matthew scratched his chin in perusal.

Mary rolled a cold eye. "Edith called me a slut." She threw her hands up. "But how she discovered anything, I am at a loss. In any event my story is out there. You don't want to marry me. Mr. Pamuk has tarnished me forever. As Mama said times haven't changed that much yet. At least not in time we actually live."

"Oh Mary." He said. He had known such men at college. At the club in London. They targeted the ones who played on their affections. It had made the game more exciting. "We don't have to live by society's fickle standards. You got caught up in something. That is all."

"But could you live with it? It was lust, Matthew. Or a need for excitement." She paused. "I knew what I was doing. I let him into my bed. I…" She faced away from him. "I asked him if it would hurt."

Matthew tried to hide his grimace. The images once again thrusting into his mind. Making him a bit mad, a bit wide eyed. He licked his lips. "Never mind all that. You were not to blame. He's the man. He's the stronger one. The aggressor. From the moment he made his vile entrance into your room…" He couldn't finish the statement.

"Does it make a difference?" She asked. "Even if it was forced, I mean. Does it make a difference?"

"What do you mean?"

"With us. With how you see me from now on. I'm no longer the pure woman. I've been made unclean."

"Nonsense." His head shook with disgust at the notion. "I would never… never think such a thing."

"Men do. This is what we've been taught by our mothers. That men only want to marry inexperienced young women to whom they can teach the pleasures of the flesh."

He rolled his eyes. "Well some men might. Slouching, vile types who are full of their own pomposity and ego. Revolting. I hope you not categorize me as such."

"No." quietly spoke by Mary, "I categorize you as a gentleman. One who expected to marry for love. To come to the marriage bed equal and the same."

He looked up under his eyelashes. "Then how do you know this does not already make us equal?" His look spoke volumes.

"You mean…" She had to admit to being surprised.

"Yes Mary. I have been with a woman before." He pushed himself back against the chair. Bone weary already from the barrage of revelations, he was about to make another.

"At university. I lived away from home." Liberated he had thought at the time. His father had died leaving the house in Matthew's name when he came of age. Even after his 21st birthday he had allowed his mother to stay in the family home in Manchester. He had been at Oxford at the time, completing his education and about to start his legal tutelage that would lead to him being accepted to the bar and take his solicitor's license.

"I rented various rooms near the college. In my last term I changed houses and …" His eyes skirted back and forth across to Mary, trying to gage whether her silence meant concentration or disgust. "I … I started a relationship with Lillian, the woman from whom I rented that last room."

The chair squeaked as he twitched in embarrassment. He looked up for Mary's judgement. "It ended only after I returned to Manchester."

"It still doesn't make us equal." She replied tonelessly. "It's always more accepting for men to engage in such behavior."

"True." He admitted. "Unfair but true. But it does, I hope, let us put this all behind us. What I'm trying to say is that you've lived your life and I've lived mine." His fingers tentatively reached out to entwine hers. "And now I think it's time we lived them together."

Was she truly hearing him?

"This is about us. I want nothing, no one to come between us." The chair pushed forward towards the bed. He leaned his forehead against hers.

"You're just saying this because we've become more modern in our outlook. Because of where we are now." Her voice insisting he tell the truth. "If we were back home, you would be more judgmental. More of our time." She wouldn't let him off the hook. Her guilt was still too great.

His eyes betrayed her reflected hurt. "No. No I wouldn't. I won't let you do this to yourself. To us. I could never despise you. I love you too much."

"Please don't take me there unless you are sure." Mary hesitated again. She knew of such men who claimed one thing and then became hurtful and disgusted after the marriage.

"I am sure." The warmth, the love brimming over in his voice made her giddy. "If you'll have me."

She looked into his excited face. He was so full of eager anticipation.

"You must say it properly." Was she really to make him do this? "Kneel down and everything."

He cracked a broad grin. "Very well my lady." And he pulled the chair back and knelt by the bed. "Lady Mary Crawley, will you do the honour of becoming my wife?"

He gazed up. Waiting…

"Yes." Her answer apparent in her lit face. Glowing with such love, Matthew scooped her up from the bed and kissed her. He spins her around the small space.

"I don't have a ring." He realized suddenly. "I… was going to get one at this jewelers in London after Sybil's ball. But then you disappeared and everything went topsy turvy."

"It doesn't matter." She said, relieved that all the confessions were out on the floor. They would rehash it all she was sure. When the initial giddiness subsided. She certainly wanted to know more about this Lillian... But for now she would live in this moment. "We can't marry anyway. Not here. Not now."

His eyes danced. "Why not?" He was already thinking of ways around the potential legal and logistical hurdles.

"Well we aren't really here, here." She laughed at her own confusion. "Not really…I mean don't we intend to go back? The spirits, or fates, or whatever that brought us to this time. I thought it was because I could more readily tell you about what happened. And now that I've explained all, I thought somehow… that we'd be moved back to our time."

He glanced mischievously around the room. "Still here I think." He grinned. "We really should just get on with it. Maybe that's what the spirits want."

"To get on with what?" Her eyes too darted around as if they were in the room with them.

"To being happy." He said.

"And if we marry without father's approval?" She warned.

"I wouldn't want to do that, naturally." He replied putting his hand to his chin."But ... " And here he hesitated. Would he be as bad as Pamuk if he acknowledged the truth of his feelings.

He took her hand in his.

He decided to say it anyway. "I want you Mary. I want to be with you." He rubbed her palm with his fingers. "And I think you want it too."

She did. She most certainly did. So she nodded as no words would come.

"I woudn't feel right, given what we've just said, I would feel as if I was taking advantage of you. Of being here. I want to do all this right. Do it properly."

"So we wait?" She sounded frustrated. "I don't want to wait Matthew." And she kissed him. "I don't want to wait anymore."

He swallowed hard. "Well in that case." He said, returning her kiss with a passionate one of his own. "We'll just get married twice. Once here. And if we are transported back by the magic fairy dust that brought us here, we can do all as it should be all over again."

"Oh yes. Please." And the kisses became more intense. "Let's do it tomorrow."

"Besides." His arms embraced her. Her head naturally fell against his shoulder. Her favorite spot. "This way we shall have two honeymoons."

XX

 _But yes I am going to make you wait for the uh…consummation of their marriage. Next chapter! Might get it out tomorrow… not sure. Been a very stressful week for me. This has been cathartic. Hope you liked it. I know Pamuk causes all sorts of issues with various readers…. I didn't want to be too dogmatic in this discussion. It's very serious of course. But I wanted to move it on to a discussion of how they'd move past the issue and use it to strengthen their own relationship._


	4. Chapter 4:Time Is On Our Side

_Remember to hand wave any questions regarding birth certificates and marriage notifications…please! This is a fantasy au time travel story!_

 _Also this chapters rating has gone up to M._

 _XX_

" _Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind." Nathaniel Hawthorne_

XX

They padded back down the stairs in the early morning light.

Both had slept soundly. The conversation had worn them out. Adding to the marriage proposal Matthew had promised that the ghost of Pamuk would never come between them. He would never let anything interfere in this world of two they were about to create.

Both had fallen asleep on the narrow bed entwined; Matthew's arm draped around Mary's shoulder. He had said he'd sleep in the chair, or in another room but Mary said, "Nonsense. Besides one of us would just have to make another bed up."

"Now that's an image I'd go across time to see. Lady Mary pulling and tugging at recalcitrant sheets and bed pillows." Matthew's head was propped against the bed frame. He held out his arms and she came into them.

"You'd be shocked to find out everything I've done while here." She said. "I know everything that Antoinette and Kassidy know." He looked slightly doubtful at that. "Well… " she admitted. "Almost everything. I couldn't let them have all the glory. Shirley says she sees real potential in me."

"I can very well believe that." Matthew whispered, before he almost instantly fell into a deep slumber. He had never felt more oddly content in all his life. Mary listened awhile longer to the unfamiliar sounds of the house, a distant train, and Matthew's light snore. She was drained after the long talk but satisfied that they could move on into this future, whatever it was, together and united.

In the dawn light, the house did reflect its origins as a stately London home of a gentry or aristocratic family. The old window glass refracted the light making light and shadows on the stair case that strobed as Mary and Matthew walked down the steps.

"Kitchen is right off this corridor. They have a kind of cook-housekeeper but they gave her the week off as I was the only one here. I'm serving as a kind of general dogsbody, housewatcher." He opened a door and into another of the Margary Fedden influenced state of the art kitchen. Steel appliances, marble countertops, and gadgets for every need showed the recent redesign upgrades.

"According to Roger," Mathew guided Mary over to some stools along a long side board. "This was an old '80s horror." Mimicking the plummy voice Roger liked to us. "Whatever that means." He grinned.

Mary replied, "I think I know. I live in an older flat and it looks nothing like this. We've just got an old chipped table and cramped cupboards." She took the opportunity to look around. "Shirley keeps saying she needs to update this old thing" but I never really knew what she meant other than to buy new furniture. They're all mismatched." Her mouth turned down in mock disgust. "I've rather gotten used to it. It's very cosy in the mornings when we're all gathered there but we sit around the table and talk about what's on for the day."

"Will you miss it?" Matthew asked, curious as to how much Mary has taken to this new life.

"I don't know. I miss my family."

"Yes." He kissed her lightly. "I miss them all too."

"Have you.." Mary was hesitant to ask. Hesitant to know the answer. "In all your research into this time, have you found out anything about us? About the Crawleys?" Her own tentative inquiries led nowhere. "I wouldn't even know where to begin if I discovered some current relation."

Matthew pondered that. And its implications. "Meet our own future great-grandaughter or something?"

Mary's eyes widened at that prospect. "Indeed. My goodness."

"I have not had much expertise on internet research until recently. Eric, my Latin pupil, has taught me all sorts of things."

"Crickey." Mary joked. "Whatever could that mean?"

"You best not ask." He rejoined. "But I can say that it is something we should consider now. Maybe we could travel to York? Have you been?"

"No." Mary's head shook. "It seemed too strange. To final. To see the house now and accept that I'll never see my Mama or Papa again."

Their heads and bodies rested against each other. Mary said with more conviction, "but now, with you I think I can face it. We can see our future and our past. My head spins whenever I try to play out all the possibilities."

Matthew agreed. "After we sort out this wedding, and… " He paused with a cheeky grin, "The honeymoon I have just in mind, we'll go to York. Fedden will give me the time off. I've been a very good boy to him."

"Honeymoon plans? How long has this idea been simmering in that fertile brain of yours?" She pulled off the skin of a banana laying on the counter and eating it realizing she was starving.

His smile was blissful. "Oh years and years you know."

"Do you want to stay here?" She asked. "Will you miss it?"

"No." He said honestly. "I can pretty much do the same job whatever or wherever I am. Keeping up with all the changes to the law has taken up much of my time. And realizing that as much as I despised certain barristers and pen pusher types in 1914, it is that much more cut throat now. Shakespeare's kill all the lawyers is more meaningful than ever. They're a ruthless bunch."

"But you seem to be thriving." She said.

"I have to admit to a certain thrill of cutting the deal but there's no humanity in it. I prefer the old face to face with clients puzzling out a land dispute or an inheritance issue. This job it seems is 24 hour full out. There's no weekend" he joked giving Mary a laugh with his Granny Violet impression.

"The Feddens did tell me I didn't have to stay here, to take some time off, but I have to do double research on this property development. Partly because I'm trying to stay one step ahead of my own ignorance, but also because the deal is to be finalized in about two or three weeks. And the documents have to be written up and submitted." He was cutting up some bread and placing it in the toaster.

"Shirley says I'm an excellent resource on early 20th century designs, so see my London shopping does come in handy… And I'm learning to curb my tongue with regards to clients outrageous demands, but I'm completely hopeless around the cash register or buying stock on line." Even the words themselves still sounded alien to Mary's tongue.

"I stood in a shop- I guess looking completely foolish and dumbfounded, just watching these doors automatically open and close as people walked in and out." And Matthew demonstrated with his hands and using a whooshing sound effect. "Remarkable."

"Kassidy asked me the other day if I has a certain song downloaded. I blinked and tried to bluff it out. Then she started singing the lyrics and wanting me to join in." She gave Matthew a side-eyed grin. "The movements she was doing…"

"Oh really?" Matthew sidled up behind her. Spooned his backside against hers and started to rhythmically grind against her hips in tune to a whispered song in her ear.

Mary blushed furiously. "Matthew Crawley! Wherever did you pick that up?" Mary teased. But she did enjoy it. And only made her anticipate their post-nuptial evening to come.

"I picked it up at the pub." He owned up. "I'm a very keen observer of the modern human condition."

"Do you have one of those new telephones?"

"An iPhone? Yes I do. Fedden insisted I get one. I'm afraid to push most of the buttons though. It's on his account so I use it sparingly. " He did not tell Mary that young Eric Fedden stole Matthew's mobile one evening while Matthew graded a Latin verb test he had assigned, and found him later hunched over and scrolling through a series of half-nude and fully nude women in various provocative poses that put the forbidden French postcards of Matthew's era in their historical perspective. Adolescent boys will be adolescent boys in any time, Matthew concluded as he snatched the mobile from Eric's hands.

Let me make you a coffee." Matthew said. And added, "If I don't blow the house up with it. It makes the most awful noises." Mary walked and stood by as he began to shift levers and push buttons on a machine.

"I've seen these in shops. But not in private houses." Mary said. "The creamy coffees are delicious."

He pushed a button and it hissed back as an angry snake.

"mmm…" he said, retreating in defeat. "Maybe just some tea then."

"Do you know I never really boiled water in my life?" Mary confessed. "I just assumed you put water in the kettle and set in on the stove. But the faucet nearly bit my head off."

"My mother made me do certain chores all my life. To improve myself and learn self-reliance. But I do admit Mrs. Bird handles most of those duties most efficiently. And I've never complained."

"See you are a bit of an aristocratic snob as well." Mary lightly chided.

Matthew had to agree with a touch of chagrin. "Upper middle class."

XX

When they were done with eating and Matthew showered and shaved, they left by the front door. Mary had explored a bit more feeling a pull of melancholy that had seldom plagued her since first arriving. So many of the old families had lost their London houses she learned from Matthew. Many others had lost entire estates. She felt, walking in the Fedden's home, the ghostly apparitions of her generation walking midst with her.

"It was the modern times catching up to them." He explained. "They just could no longer afford the upkeep. Many resorted to living much simpler lives."

"Rosamund would call that vulgar." Mary responded dryly.

"And you?" He asked, still believing that given Mary's druthers she would like him to be rich.

"I think I've come to distinguish between the things that matter and the things that don't." She took his hand and walked down the steps out into the sunshine of a frosty but not unbearably windy London morning.

Matthew did not stretch the point to explaining what modern times caught up with the best classes of families. For it was war. A long, nightmare of a war that sapped resources both governmental and private. Taxation skyrocketed afterwards. The nation, it could be said, never fully recovered.

And he had to return. This was another conversation, difficult and problematic, that they would have to have. Mary knew of the war. One could not live in London and not see something of the centenary commemorations.

But neither spoke of it. He suspected his test, if the fates or spirits had tests for the both of them, was to decide whether to stay safe in this time, or return to his call of duty in the past. And maybe, because he had delayed that decision in order to spend time with Mary, that was the reason they remained.

But that was speculation and he put it out of his mind.

Matthew returned Mary to her shared flat above the vintage clothing store. She offered to let him off the hook by going up alone, but he said, "We've nothing to hide. I can face Shirley." He gave a doubtful grin though, when they walked into the shop, finding it already open for business and Shirley strumming her fingernails along the counter space waiting for them to approach.

"Good morning Shirley." Mary said. "I'm just going to go upstairs to freshen up and I'll be down to work my shift." She turned to Matthew. "Matthew and I got to talking so much last night that he didn't want me go out alone so late, so I slept in the guest room and we had an early breakfast this morning."

She tapped Matthew on the arm as if to say that's your cue to just leave. "I will see you later today, then right?"

Matthew still had the startled look of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But he quickly recovered. "Yes. I'll look into the matter right now. And be back to get you by noon shall we say?"

Mary gave him the most beautiful of smiles. Shirley was none too pleased.

As soon as Matthew left, Shirley turned to her newest employee. "Mary my dear, what made you go off so sudden last night? It seems out of your character to just pick someone up. That's more Antoinette's game."

Mary had already come up with an explanation for her late night out. "Matthew and I are childhood friends. We grew up together in the same village in Yorkshire. But I've not seen him in years. So we just were getting caught up." She hoped she was a good liar.

"Childhood friends?" Shirley looked wary. "Is that all?"

"Well…" And given what they were about to do this afternoon, maybe full disclosure, or in this case a bit of misdirection was needed. "We were engaged at one point but I got cold feet. He left to take a job with a London law firm. We… we settled our differences last night"

She swallowed. Now or never. "I'm going to marry him this afternoon.

Shirley dropped the inventory device. It clattered on the counter. Her mouth agape. Mary had never seen the woman at a loss for words. She felt rather special.

"And I will need a reference from you for residency and work purposes. For the Registry Office." She hoped she said it exactly as Matthew said. He would need the same. The birth certificates, now that—he had rubbed his chin in thought at that one—that would take more thought. And creative lying…

XX

Matthew met Mary later on at the shop. He was wearing his best working suit. Dark blue with waistcoat, tie, and jacket he intended to look his best. Roger Fedden had taken Matthew to his tailor needing the younger man to be the impressive protégé to persuade the building commission he was serious. Matthew obliged.

And he got a discount on the suit.

Mary was wearing a sleeveless pencil dress, jewel neck with cashmere jacket. The deep crimson suited her dark hair and eyes. Matthew couldn't release his eyes from her upon first entering the shop. Shirley was fussing with some earring, picking one and then another.

He approached Shirley with a certain amount of trepidation. Had Mary smoothed over those waters? They had adapted their real story for a modern retelling. They crossed fingers and hoped it worked. They needed her cooperation.

And to Matthew's eternal relief and gratitude, she accepted the story.

"Matthew." The older woman said, now with a touch of warmth in her voice. "Here you are at last." She walked around the work table and gave him a most surprising hug.

"Mary explained everything to me. Now I'm not sure it wouldn't be a good idea to give today a miss and give yourselves some more time to reconnect, but" And here Matthew was practically bowled over to learn that the tough and cold exterior held a heart of a romantic. "It's so lovely that you found each other again. I can't find it in myself to disapprove."

Shirley saw them stand side by side, holding hands. "You look so natural together." They smiled in return to the compliment.

Then Kassidy and Antoinette burst out of the room with mobiles in hand. "Picture time!" And they snapped away posing the happy couple in with and without Shirley and with both and single of them. Matthew asked they take a couple with his own mobile. And they did so. He was most pleased with the results.

Mary said "We'll have to have some prints made though," she sidled up to his ear. "For when we go back. We'll have some memories to take with us."

"The happiest of memories." He kissed her. It got a little long and passionate, until Antoinette barked, "Oi there mate. You've got to wait to get some tonight." And she and Kassidy giggled.

"To think you're going to beat me to the altar!" Kassidy said. "You're still going to be one of my bridesmaids? Or do we need to make you matron of honor now."

"or dishonor…" Antoinette winked at Matthew.

He blushed most becomingly Shirley admired. He really was in love with her sweet girl.

They all followed Matthew to the waiting taxi and directions to the Registry Office. He had spent most of the day explaining and re-explaining and making stuff up at will in order to get the clerk to accept the fact their birth certificates were, shall we say, a bit out of date.

"Must have gotten us mixed up with some earlier people with the same names. They run in our families. We've encountered this type thing before." He gave the clerk his best, winning smile and open blue-eyed face.

It also helped the rest of the paperwork was in order. Fedden had faxed over the necessary recommendation for Matthew. He had a company identification which also helped. He accepted that it would take fifteen or so days to finalize the registration.

"But we will be married?" He asked.

The clerk said yes. Once the judge performed the ceremony, the marriage could be called official. "Bit anxious are you?" She looked over her glasses at the young man, bit nervy and high strung but incredibly handsome.

He gave a double take. "oh..uh…." He blushed only making her like him even more. "We want to do everything proper."

"I approve. Not many will do that today." And she stamped the documents and handed them back to him. "Come back in two hours, with the bride… for the ceremony."

He ran home, changed, and came to fetch Mary and her friends who would serve as witnesses. He had also booked the most expensive hotel room he thought he'd ever reserve. He booked The Rook's Nest penthouse suite at an old established hotel in the Barbican district. He first heard about it through work, giving him just the notion at first. Had he ever to find Mary. Now it's happened, he fiddled on the mobile until he found the website. It was perfect. Overlooking St. Paul's and the Old Bailey, dating to 1764 he felt it suited their time traveling experience. One they could possibly stay in again, once they returned to their own time.

But it was bloody expensive. He used up most of the savings he had managed to squirrel away with the cash retainer Fedden had placed him on. But he figured, if they were ever to get back to Downton time he would have no need for 21st century money. So he could spend at will.

At least that what he told himself.

They all arrived at the Registry Office, right on time. They waited in the plain but efficient outer room, and had the simple ceremony performed by an older but distinguished looking Superintendent Registrar.

Mary recited her vows, slipped to her on a little card, softly, but with calm conviction. She vowed to take Matthew Reginald Crawley as her wedding husband. She shivered on the last word.

Matthew, biting back a few tears, replied the same. He would take Mary Josephine Crawley as his wedded wife. His soft intonation of wife, made the two witnesses start to blub a bit.

He was just so dreamy. Kassidy wished her own bloke was that respectful.

After the exchange of wedding bands, something provided by Shirley—"the something old love isn't it" they signed the books and documents. Snapped a few more pictures and they were done.

They left the others to dinner on Matthew and took a taxi to The Rookery. Mary felt butterflies in her stomach. Everything had been such a whirl. And while the outside was simple stone, inside and up the stairs to the loft penthouse suite Mary's eyes grew large at Matthew's effort.

They entered the suite and although Matthew thought the overly ornate bedposts were slightly ludicrous and most certainly out of any time he'd like to live in, the rest of the suite was perfect. There was a dog leg staircase up to a sitting room up under the spire so everything was triangulated and wood paneled. He noticed some chilled champagne and flutes on a table. Assorted fruits and sweets as well.

Downstairs was the Victorian bath on a raised plinth.

He puckered his lips and looked over at Mary. "Seems to fit two just right."

"We shall see, sir." Mary slid her hand slow and seductive all along his arm and around his waist. "We shall very much see." He took hold of her hands and gently pushed the two of them down onto the bed.

"Can you believe we actually pulled that off?" He glanced over at her. They were lying parallel on the damask crimson coverlets. The porter had brought up their suitcases. They intended to spend only overnight here and take the train late the next day to Yorkshire. There they were to confront their past alongside their present.

"I am very relieved it is all over. And we are alone." Mary kissed his left ear, small nips and kisses all along the ridge and lobe.

"And I'm very much ready to get on with things." And while she had felt a certain pangs of anxiety about whether she could satisfy Matthew, she realized that he was as nervous as she. But also as eager.

"What things did you have in mind..." barely getting the words out as Mary's hands roamed free along his torso.

"Oh...all sorts." Her voice getting deeper the more she concentrated on her pleasurable ministrations.

Matthew groaned in delight. All his senses were lit afire. She climbed over his hips and nestled against his groin, laying her head on his chest.

"I can hear your heart." She said, sitting up and began to undo his tie slowly, releasing the knot and pulling the smaller end through. He stretched his neck up and she came down to give him a long sensuous kiss. It slipped and slip around his mouth. "It's beating fast."

She whipped the end of the tie around his neck and threw it behind her head. "Let's start on that waistcoat shall we. Did you wear all these layers just so I could undress them one by one later on?" As the buttons freed him from its confines she loosened the belt as well. His arousal was apparent. She felt along the ridge of the zipper. "Another new invention. The zipper." And she grasped the clasp and unbound each of the metal teeth. The trousers were freed and on the floor.

"Where did you learn this technique?" He asked dry mouthed already from the spasms of breath as he continued to grunt and growl with each sensation of removed garment.

"I making it up as I go." She murmured into his ear. "You like it?"

"Oh yes." He said, managing to get his hands around her derriere. She had hiked up her dress and his hands slipped easily up and under the garment. She wore silk under drawers which he pushed up and each hand grasped a cheek of her buttocks. The squeezing motion made her lose a bit of concentration.

"Well two can play at this game right?" He asked, even as she was very suggestively sitting back and starting to remove her dress completely.

He gasped at her utter beauty. Matthew' eyes raked over the alabaster skin. His fingers roamed from her rear to the S shaped line of her hips. He rolled her over gently onto the bed so that he was able to free the rest of his clothes from his body. She wore only the barest of chemises so he could view the erect nipples of her breasts, even as her breaths came in heaves making them move and quiver in soft motion. Matthew was mesmerized.

He bent over her to touch each one. They yielded supple yet firm, as he pinched and squeezed first one nipple than the other.

"Take it off." Mary said. "Please. I want to feel your touch on my skin." Her own need was overwhelming. She had never felt such a rush of pleasure. My cheeks must be inflamed, she thought. She felt so hot. So needy of his fingers, his hands, his body touching every part of her. Nothing, nothing had prepared her for the utter decadant sensuality of sexual lust. Such carnal desires she had thought the imaginations of authors in flights of fancy. Reality was not to be like that.

Until it was. Until Matthew. Until their mutual love showed them how to touch, how to feel, how to make love to each other until the pleasure threatened to send them over the edge. A crescendo. Like in an orchestral arrangement. First the buildup. Then the climax.

She gave over to it entirely. Mary felt her hand push his face closer to her breasts. She wanted him to suck, to taste, to nip at each. To send her into more of those crescendos of desire. She could not get enough of that sensation.

Matthew's face reached her own. He lifted it up from his actions, red lipped and puffy. He kissed her deep and hard, pushing his tongue further and further in. She could feel that he was on the brink of not being able to stop. Her own head was spinning from all his exertions upon her body. She fit her thighs against his groin. Engorged with blood and desire she could feel it rise against her. She shuddered in the awareness of how much he wanted to plunge it into her depths. To consummate their marriage bed.

But he hesitated. "I … I need to get something" He murmured in her ear. She fell back limp, sweaty. He was gone but a minute. He had put on a sheath of protection.

"Just to be on the safe side." He whispered. And then he maneuvered his body again atop her own. She opened her thighs to him. Wide and inviting. She felt him push his shaft inside her. They each bucked and pulled against each other. His grunts grew loud with each thrust. She felt such a rush of waves of unmitigated pleasure she thought never to experience again. Wave upon wave hit her as his body bucked against hers. Each time she thought the peak had subsided, it came again in crests of fleshy desire. His own peak, when it came, shattered him. It overpowered all his senses and he fell against her. Mary held onto him. Skin to skin. This weight. This man. This heart, very much alive and now a part of her essence, her being. She would love him til the last breath left her body.

"That was amazing." Matthew finally was able to utter when his body stopped heaving from the physical exertion. He turned to Mary. "Was it..." He thought he knew from the groans and scream of ecstasy he heard escape her lips. Indeed her climax drove his home. He wanted to give her everything.

"I can't even begin to describe it. I loved it." She giggled. Leaned in towards his face. "It was very nice."

He squeezed her closer into his embrace. "Oh yes. As nice as nice can be." He too began to chuckle. He fell back against the covers. "I want to stay here forever."

Mary gave him a very cheeky look."I want to try out that Victorian bath tub." And she got up giving him an eye full of her swaying nude rear end and long legs. She turned and he glimpsed her peaked breasts. "Will you join me?"

"Oh yes my lady I will." And Matthew leapt from the bed.

XX

 _Please review. I love hearing from you! After their honeymoon interlude... which will be expanded upon a bit in the next chapter...we will travel north to Downton and Mary and Matthew's past and present will collide._


	5. Chapter 5: All This Time

_I had no idea I was going to write this chapter the way it turned out… he wasn't even supposed to get in the tub … lol. Uh…so… all honeymoon all the time in this chapter._

 _It's a definite M rated chapter._

XX

 _Take all the time lost_  
 _All the days that I cost_  
 _Take what I took and_  
 _Give it back to you (One Republic)_

He fell back against the covers. "I want to stay here forever."

Mary gave him a very cheeky look."I want to try out that Victorian bath tub." And she got up giving him an eye full of her swaying nude rear end and long legs. She turned and he glimpsed her peaked breasts. "Will you join me?"

"Oh yes my lady I will." And Matthew leapt from the bed.

Mary started to run the water in the tub. Purring with pleasure she dipped a toe in and then took the plunge. She reached out a long slender limb, fingers outspread and willowy. Inviting him to take her hand. He took it and then lavished his attentions on her arm, gliding his fingers first along her wrist, then forearm slippery from the water. His touch was light, loving, slow and measured. Making him breathe hard. Their eyes met in a moment of such passion and longing that neither wanted to look away.

He then moved towards her shoulders. Matthew's long fingers lay cool, massaging strokes all over Mary's body. The bathing oils provided by the hotel of jasmine and vanilla promised a sensuality bordering on decadence on the bottle's label. Matthew low rumbled laugh could be heard as he dipped some in the warm water. The bubble bath soak had covered Mary's body, making him use his only his hands to caress her skin and find the most pleasurable spots. Her delightful shivers made him move back into a stiffened state.

He remained outside the tub, swirling the water and getting ready to lather his hands. Leaned his body against the cool marble. Reaching over to turn on the hot water and get the temperature so that Mary could dip her hair under the shower spigot. Her breasts thrust out enticingly as her arms reached above her head and she threaded her fingers through the strands of hair. It was now wet and slicked back against her head.

Matthew's hands reached for the shampoo. He lathered up the gel into a foamy froth. Gathered Mary's long, silky mane into his hands and began to massage the suds into her scalp. She leaned her head into him making his own chest hairs bristle with goosebumps. His strokes were confident, his fingers deep and pressured. He had dreamed of this moment. Of possessing her. Of her possessing him. From the first night upon meeting Mary she had become his ideal woman. Her quick wit, her ready opinions only pushed him into further exploration of her changeful ways. Dismissive one day, she declared him not such a dull boy after all the next. He remembered their first awkward meeting, when he had so foolishly earned her disdain by his boastful prattle that he'd not be fixed by the Crawley's into marrying one of their eligible daughters.

He suddenly laughed. A wistful smile danced across his lips. "I shall choose my own wife I said." He whispered in her ear. "And you replied it was a complete joke."

Low and husky, her voice murmured a reply, "What am I always telling you, Matthew. Pay no attention to the things I say."

His lips surrounded hers, stopping all conversation, all their memories for the moment. The time now was to live for this moment.

She passed her eyes appreciatively over Matthew's naked form and state of arousal. Her unadulterated lustful gaze was all he needed. He moved in behind her in the tub so that she could feel the pressure of his pelvis against her buttocks. Instinctively she moved a top him and he gripped her tightly in astonishment. His breaths came short. He was about to lose control. Never had he expected Mary to be so forward. So animalistic in her actions. She seemed to just know what to do. How to make him explode inside her.

Mary wrapped his hands around her from behind, gripping her firm breasts tightly. Almost painfully as she continued to buck and thrust down onto him. He slid in and out of her. The suction of pressure and weight making him grunt in undisguised gratification. Their breaths now hot on each other's skin. In joint unison they continued this pas de deux of sex and lust. She had no plan to do what she did. But the feel of his arousal, the length of his engorgement created in her a need that had no other answer than to go down on him. She was without any thought other than the coursing pleasure that dismantled her sensibility and made her insensate to anything other than greedily needing more of him inside her body.

His groans grew louder as he neared climax. He squeezed and cupped her breasts. Pinching her nipples. His hands suddenly released her breasts and gripped her shoulders. Cutting into her skin as he pushed her shoulders down onto him, forcing her body further and further into him. She then released and moved up. Feeling him sliding in and out of her. Their grinding, their singular focus making them grunt and growl with each new peak of erotic arousal. He could feel the weight of her body upon him. She gained leverage by stretching her arms out and putting one on each side of the tub. Her legs moved so that she was now sitting upon him, her knees along side his upper legs. She squeezed hard against him making him groan and shudder as if he thought the world was coming to an end.

"Mary Mary…" her name softly spoken, then as a yelp of pleasure escaped his lips and his peak sent waves of warmth inside her, he scratched her skin hard and made his mark in crescent shaped fingernail scorings. He shuddered and released her. She never felt such a powerful surge of ecstasy. She was in a stupor. Fell over until he caught her with his strong forearms. Gathered her up and eased her back down into the water, against his chest. His own breaths coming heavy and fast.

She cradled her head in the crook of his shoulder. His arms encircled her body. He could feel the rise and fall of her taking air against his torso. His hand came to rest against her stomach, making idle circles around her bellybutton.

This moment could last forever he thought. Why go anywhere else?

How would they ever return to a time when they had to pretend they had not explored and satiated each other's body to completion?

"Let me finish washing your hair." He finally said. And took a small bowl near the edge of the tub. Filled it with clear, cool water and rinsed the suds and gel from her hair. It still glistened, along with her facial skin from the fragrant oils. She was just so beautiful.

"You are very good at that." Mary took her hands and with a practiced hand began to wring the remaining water droplets from her tresses. She wound her hair up and threw it behind her back.

He continued to watch. To simply gaze at these simple gestures. Something she probably did every day. But now doing it with him. Knowing he was watching her. Her head tossed back, and she fussed some more with some unruly strands. He took his own hand and fixed them behind her ear. She leaned in and caressed his hand as he did so.

Continuing to caress her hair, he said, "My darling you are perfect."

She chortled lightly. "Not everyone thinks so. Edith for example."

He shrugged. "They don't know you like I do."

"How so?" Pursuing this idea, she knew that Matthew believed he knew her better than anyone. "How do you know this?"

"Because I've seen you naked." His words making her shiver again with a wave of arousal. "And held you in my arms." His fingers sending more ripples inside her as he tickled her arm.

"And I know the real you." His hand resting again on her belly.

"Quite the testimonial." And she turned her head up so that they could give each other a slippery kiss. "But you now know me carnally? Is that it? Is that why?"

"Well…." He hesitated, but knew what he wanted to say. "Yes and no. I do mean we've now crossed into carnal knowledge to use the legal term, and that's amazing and something I could do every day for the rest of my life, I think." His laugh tender and sweet. "But I also mean I know you without disguise. The true Mary. The one you keep hidden from everyone. Your goodness. Your depths of emotional complexity." He was struggling to put into words how he felt. "You make me want to spend the rest of my life getting to know every part of you."

"Oh Matthew. Me too. You wear your heart on your sleeve. Every look every gesture I've always felt I knew what you were thinking. What you were wanting. But now I'm not sure. I thought I could keep you at a distance. Play with you until I decided what to do with you. But you surprised me. Your candor is most unnerving. I didn't know how I was feeling, until all of a sudden I realized I couldn't live my life without you." She eased herself even closer to his body. Never to let go.

"And now we never have to." And his kiss was hot upon her lips. And they were lost once again.

XX  
Much later they were still in the haze of love making. Each had found the luxuriously plush robes that were provided by the hotel establishment. She rolled the collar up against her neckline and cuffed the long sleeves. Mary then sat opposite Matthew on the long sofa upstairs from the bedroom and bath. In the triangular cupola, the wood paneling giving the room a soft glow. Matthew had poured out some champagne in the flutes. He handed one to her.

"We haven't even eaten. It will go to my head." She teased.

"Good." He responded. "Then I shall have my way with you again." And he felt her open the tie of his robe with her big toe. She flicked it open and began to massage his chest with her feet, feeling his muscular torso ripple with pleasure at her touch.

"You are very dexterous," He said, swallowing hard, closing his eyes and becoming entranced by her actions.

"And you are insatiable." She noticed his eyes becoming soft pools of desire once again.

He gave a half lidded look of pure lust. "Only around you." His voice hard and low. Resonant with purpose he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

"Oh God Mary." Their embrace was all encompassing. "I am so sorry we had to cross time and space to be together. That you felt we could not be together in our own time."

"Sssh." She said. "All that is past. There is nothing to forgive. We have everything before us."

They cuddled closer. His fingers unable to resist circling her breasts, massaging in slow concentric loops. He found himself returning and returning to her heart shaped tattoo. It had tantalized him in the bathtub. Now he kissed her shoulder. Kissed it. Lapped the shape of the tattoo with his tongue.

It was the symbol of this original Mary. The blue streaks had washed out, he had noticed. But this tattoo would ever be a permanent reminder of their time in this place.

"So this Lillian…" Mary started. She felt him sigh in discomfiting resignation against her chest.

"Yes." Spoken cautiously by Matthew. "What about her?" He remembered the callow boy he had been. Believing he was a man. He had been all awkward and fumbling with the older woman. She had been experienced. His gaucheness seemed to endear him to her. She moved on to another when he left to return home. He had barely thought of her since.

"You loved her?" Tentative.

"No." Assured his response.

"So it was lust?" She asked, knowing his answer.

"Pure and uncomplicated, I'm afraid. I was 21 and …rather stupid." He brought her eyes to meet his. "I learned a lot about pleasure. About pleasing. But I was never," and he kissed her, "never in love."

She nodded. "I can live with that. We're told so very little about sex, about men's needs in our waiting rooms. So that when we marry, it all comes as rather a shock."

"Boys are usually brought by their fathers or uncles to learn about sex from … those more learned in such arts." He said without using the terms he had heard from other schoolboy chums. That they had been taken to a brothel or a gambling house and had their virginity taken in a lumpy bed in back room by a tart who wore too much make-up.

"I didn't have that experience of course." His father, a stiff upper lip type even if he had lived would never have done such a thing with his only son. "So I found my own way." His soft guffaw trying to soften the blow.

"If we were still in 1914 we couldn't even be having this conversation." He also added. Amazed at how open sexuality and sex talk was just a hundred years in the future. "It's everywhere here."

"I know. My flat mates were always bringing blokes home." She even used the colloquial term without thinking. I was shocked at first. But then simply got used to it." She shrugged. "Odd how things become less noticeable the more it's done around you."

"But given that," He said, "in demystifying love… erm …sex… doesn't it also lose its power I wonder? Becomes more and more a commodity, like everything else in this society. There's no allure, no mystery anymore. No?" He tried to find the word that escaped him. That ineffable quality of needing, of wanting to feel the touch of a woman's hand beneath an encased glove. A glimpse of a well turned ankle. The soft swish of a petticoat.

"Yes but men possessed women as property for far too long. Look at the entail?" She argued. "Or the fact that for centuries women could not hold property."

"True. True." He acknowledged. "All that's changed. You know the entail will be revoked in 1925." He mused how that might have changed his life had that happened earlier in their own time. He would never have been as needed to marry the eldest daughter of the earl. She could have married whom she chose.

"It's better now. In some ways." He said. "But there's still inequality." He sighed. "Some things never change."

He turned her around so that they faced each other. "I do have to ask something." He looked into her eyes searchingly. "Do you know what we might have just done? In the bath?" He said it quietly.

She brushed her fingers against his cheek. He looked so concerned. So would put him at ease. "Yes." She said confidently. "I know."

"We ….we might have conceived a child." He said. "I ... I wasn't wearing any…"

"Hush." She cupped his cheeks in her hands. Kissed him. "I know. We are married. It is only natural."

"But if we …when we return." He was anxious. His eyes darted back and forth. "They won't know we're married. It won't be legal then."

She wasn't sure what she wanted. "Let's consider some options, Matthew. What if we don't return? What if we stay here? Now?"

"Really? Stay?" He pursed his lips. "I suppose we could. We'd need a more permanent place to stay. Find somehow to get our paperwork straight…"

"I don't mean those details." She persisted. "I mean, do you want to stay in this time? When we can do what we want? Be what we want? I have never felt so free."

He touched her red hearted tattoo again. "I know. And it's wonderful." But he was not sure at all. "I've become very much involved in the details of this 21st century. It's the result of a century of war and hate. I know we've found our sanctuary, here between us, but I'm not sure it's the time I want to live." And he added as gently as he could, "And I feel I must go back to do my duty. To know that this war is coming, that I can ignore it. Can deny my role in it? I'm not sure I can."

"You said yourself you weren't always a creature of duty." She reminded him.

"Yes. I know what I said. But that was more about social niceties. I'm not sure could live with myself knowing what I know is about to happen, and to shirk from that responsibility. I think," He said softly, "I think that's also why you love me."

She leaned her head again in the crook of his shoulder. "Yes. I see."

"But I won't do anything without your consent. I won't go without you. We need to be in this together."

Hearing his heart beat, Fearing for his life in this horrible war she knew too much about. "We will make the decision together."

They were quiet. The love they shared enough for the moment. The present theirs. The future unknowable.

"Maybe when we go to York. When we go see Downton I'll feel different. I'll feel the pull of home again." Mary was a bit frightened by the prospect of what mysteries will be unfolded when they return to their past. Their past in the present. It was still so confusing to her.

"Are you ready to see it?" He asked. "We have time. We can postpone the trip."

"I'm ready. I want to go. I know it will all be different. New family, or… extended branches of the family living there."

Matthew felt he had to add. "Or not the Crawleys at all, remember. I've done some research into these old mansions for my job, and after the war, and the financial crises to come, many families had to sell up. Like the Feddens house."

She remembered the empty feeling in that vast townhouse in the city. The ghosts she had sensed. "I know. We'll have to face it. Know what this future is trying to tell us. Why we are here. Maybe the answers lie at Downton. In our past."

He could but not agreement. He had no other answer.

"If we do go back. And you are…" he gulped "with our child. Then we will have to marry expeditiously." He tried to lighten the fear he felt. Robert would have him raked over coals otherwise.

"We'll post the bans the same day." She promised. "And be married within the fortnight. Mother will be surprised and probably protest that rushing a wedding is unseemly." Her voice imitative of Cora's American drawl. "But I'll tell her I'll wait no more. That if she wants me up the aisle and married she'd better accept it now, for I might just change my mind and say we could put it off indefinitely." Taking on her own mocking tone.

"That's pushing the boat out a bit, I'd say." Matthew replied.

"Only way to get it done." She assured him. "Play fire with fire."

They kissed again. Moved downstairs towards the bed. The day had been long. The evening full of sensual desires of the flesh. The night was theirs to do with as they wish.

Tomorrow was still yet unforeseen.

XX  
 _Hope you liked it. On to Downton in the next chapter! Please take a few minutes to review. You have no idea how curious I am as to how you feel about this story! Bless you all.!_


	6. Chapter 6: Wasn't Made for These Times

_Mary and Matthew's return to Downton_

XX

 _Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end. Shakespeare Sonnet 60_

They sensed something was up as soon as they stepped off the train station platform. A guide, believing they were part of a tour, herded them towards a waiting bus.

Matthew waved but refused to board. "We'll walk."

The young tour guide, trying to steer "selfie"-taking tourists onto the waiting motor, did a double take. She gawped at Matthew. "Are… are you sure? I can bring the cosplayers to the castle's employee entrance. Unless..." and at that she spied Mary who sidled up to Matthew and taken his hand. "Unless you're part of the competition…?" But her hitched voice trailed off as she continued to stare at the two people before her.

Matthew's blue eyes crinkled in total bewilderment. "Competition?" He parsed the word as if he had no idea what it meant. He tried a friendly smile.

Mary's own eyes looked on bemused. Her new husband, Mary realized, had no idea the effect that lopsided grin had on the poor girl.

"No thank you." Mary said, but her pleasant, high toned voice only made the young guide even more flustered.

"Ok then." She said giving them a confused wave and walked slowly away towards the tour bus. The guide's eyes kept glancing back at the two people most likely to ace any Mary/Matthew lookalike contest Downton would ever host.

The couple under scrutiny began to hurry in the opposite direction before they caused any more commotion. Some of the other tourists, rubbernecking towards the pair, started to whisper, moan, and carp that 'Mary' and 'Matthew' really should stop and take pictures with them, after all wasn't it part of the package holiday they paid for?

But were silenced when Mary gave them all her evil eye.

Matthew pressed her along before she started to do bodily harm. "How did they know our names?" She asked, getting nonplussed. "Why are we suddenly the center of attention?"

"I don't know." Matthew steered Mary down a path behind the train station. "I think we may be in for a lot of surprises today."

They walked in silence down into a small vale of trees.

Mary had never really thought about the distance between the train station, the gates of the estate, and the house. But once they entered the vale and tried to take the usual family short cut behind the station and into the lower fields, an iron wrought railing blocked their way. Signs of Private Property and warning of police surveillance stemmed any thought Mary might have had of scaling the barrier.

"I guess we'll have to go back around and take a taxi to the front gate." She said irritated. "I cannot believe it's locked like that. Papa has always allowed people to walk the grounds."

"Let's walk through town." Matthew suggested instead. "It's a lovely day. I would like to see some things as well."

"Of course." Mary took his outstretched hand.

"We'll go by Crawley House." He took his own familiar shortcut through the train station and into the back gate of the Church of St. Michael of All Angels.

The sight of the church, the Anglo-Saxon tower with herringbone stonework and spire visible from the lane, built to last and looking just the same, gave him pause. "Let's go inside." Impulsively suggested, as he guided Mary past the cemetery. Neither wanted to view the family gravesites.

They walked in.

"Here." He thought instead with glowing incredulity, "Here is where we'll be married. Again." He smiled. The stained glass made the sun shine in colored, dancing lights.

"How many moments of Crawley history has this church seen?" He said aloud.

Mary came and touched his arm. "And many more to come." She quirked an eyebrow. "You so rarely sound enthusiastic about going to church."

"I like the architecture." A reference to Edith's tour of churches that had so unexpectedly initiated so many events of their life.

And then his breath caught as he saw something. The plaque, a memorial among many on the east wall of the church.

He could not help but go read it.

He choked a tear back as he read aloud " _Isobel Turnbull Crawley 1853-1915 widow of Dr. Reginald Crawley and beloved mother of Matthew Reginald Crawley, also late of this parish."_

"She was so young." He shook his head. "I thought my mother would live to be a hundred. She has such drive. Such love of life." Matthew turned to Mary, ashen faced. "Did she die of a broken heart? Did we cause this?"

She grabbed his hand. "We caused nothing remember." She replied. "Neither of us wanted that mist… that dust to take us here." She pushed back a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. An action, Matthew knew, was as much reflexive as it was indicative of Mary gathering strength.

He shook his head out of his blue funk. "True." But he couldn't help but look closer, at his own name on the memorial. His own death notice. "They think I died…."

"All of this can be changed." Mary said as Matthew's voice trailed off. "We can still change things." She knew she was boosting her own resolve as much as his own.

"Absolutely." He turned on his heels away from the plaque. "No more morbid talk." He screwed on a smile. "Let's look around."

Mary walked towards the altar. Matthew tucked his head into an alcove. "Did you know the church survived a long siege in 1142? That what we see now was actually the 'new' remodeling in the 1270s."

Mary turned to listen. She laughed at his deliberate pitch of the word 'new.' Everything they've seen in the last months have been new to them, but ordinary, commonplace to everyone else. "It is beautiful." She walked towards the carving of a medieval effigy of a lady. Touched it gently. Looked up to the Corinthian columns.

"It was part of the great civil war of Matilda and Stephen, 'When Christ and his saints slept' as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles said." Matthew continued.

Mary responded wryly. "I had no idea. It's just always been in the village."

"I made it my job to learn village history. Especially as mother and I lived next door." He chuckled. "I thought it might help me get to know Downton."

"And I thought it was from your cosy tour with Edith." She walked towards him. "I remember warning you Edith had big plans for you." Mary asked. "Or did you agree to go with Edith that day because you wanted to play with my affections?"

"What?" Matthew said eyes narrowing, "That had never occurred to me. I like Edith, I would never use her for some kind of ploy."

Mary's face scrunched into a sarcastic grin. "I do it all the time." So dryly spoken, Matthew laughed.

"Yes well….that's you." He kissed her.

Thinking of that day, he said "No… I accepted because I did not want to remain all afternoon at Downton waiting around like some lovelorn rejected suitor while you rode to the hounds with your champions by your side."

It was Mary's turn to groan.

"I was rather insufferable, wasn't I?" She stopped as some other tourists walked noisily in. They made a move to leave.

Once outside, Matthew continued "You were just being yourself." He paused. "And playing the game as you were taught."

"I did rather enjoy teasing you." She blanched though at the memory. "Then it got out of hand. And I did not know I was going into waters far deeper than I imagined."

Matthew quickly changed the subject. "I remember mother telling me that that Edith was fond of me. I told her she was barking up the wrong tree."

Mary teased along. "And why was that? You are obviously very popular with all the Crawley sisters. Sybil certainly took a shine to you."

"What?" Matthew said. "Because of her knock on the head? She was just dizzy."

"I know. And she considers you now her overly protective big brother. But it made me pause." The admission a bit more than Mary expected to say.

He looked over, expectedly. They were ambling down the path towards the estate, loose limbed and hand in hand.

She made the commitment to speak the truth. "To think that I could lose you. To someone else. That I hate to admit such an idea had never crossed my mind. How conceited of me. I am ashamed of it now. I always thought of myself as smart, quick witted, but never openly cruel."

Matthew was glad they had reached the stage in their relationship where Mary found it more comfortable to be open and honest with him.

"You were never cruel." Matthew tried to reassure, although he did remember more than once being flung aside. "Wounding my pride, occasionally, but never cruel."

"I did say I could never marry an old sea monster." Her tone taking on the flippant tone of memory.

"Especially one who did not know how to use his fork properly?" He rejoined.

"How did you know that?" Shading her eyes from the sun, she turned.

He had not, for certain, until that moment. "It was the way you looked at me."

She shuddered. "To think we could have wasted time together because of my haughty disregard."

"And my hesitations don't forget. I did not really know how to …." He paused. "To cross that boundary between us. You repelled me at every assault."

"You kept coming back." She reminded him.

"I was ever your dull boy." He laughed. He looked at her beautiful, intelligent eyes. "I was yours to do with what you wanted. From the moment I set eyes on you."

She looked pained from his revelation. He continued, "I knew you, however, saw me as the enemy."

"Oh Matthew, " Mary's fingers squeezed his tighter. "You had taken Papa's affections. He had the son he always wanted. You had the inheritance. The title. It all seemed so very absurd."

"And it is… erm… was…" he laughed. "I told Granny Violet it was very harsh that your father's home and your mother's fortune be passed to me. I said I would accept a change in the entail with as good a grace as I could muster."

Mary stopped in her tracks. "You said that?" She blinked in astonishment. "When?"

"Walking to the motor after my first meeting the family." He faced her. "Are you surprised?"

"No. Not now. I… might have been, though. Then." She paused. "Is that why Granny's ever been on your side?"

"Well…that and my inherent charm." He teased back.

He got more serious. "Your realization that I would not always be your plaything. Is…Is that why you turned on your powers of fascination at our wine and sandwiches tête-à-tête?"

"Would I admit to that?" She drawled. "To loving a man so much I'd throw myself at his feet."

"Of course not." Matthew laughed. He reached out and pulled her close in for a kiss.

They resumed walking.

"It certainly was not on Sybil's mind I can assure you. It's perfectly clear to me Sybil's always leaned her affections in another direction." Matthew gave a side-long glance at Mary to gauge her reaction.

It was Mary's turn to gasp. "What do you mean?"

Um… in the direction of the garage." He hinted. Matthew had been in the back seat with Sybil on the way back to Downton. Mary opposite. So only Matthew witnessed Branson biting his lips in concern in the rear view mirror, his beetling eyes, and the not so surreptitious peeks back by the chauffeur. The questions about Sybil's health. Her injury. Her potential recovery.

"Branson?" Mary's crusty tone was clear. Matthew could not help but realize that Mary may be in a more modern era, wearing a tank top and slim cut jeans, and sporting a tormenting tattoo but she was ever of her social class. You could still slice her accent like a knife. And a sterling silver one at that.

"You said yourself times change." He gestured towards the shops and kiosks that dotted the road towards the entrance to Downton. "And we certainly know that more than most."

She still looked on in disbelief.

"Branson's a good man. He works hard. If he loves her," he said gently, "then one's prospects should not matter."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Matthew you always make everything so black and white. Sybil will be rejected in society. She'll won't be welcome in the houses of county families."

"As I am welcome only because your father chose me as his heir?" He reminded her. "Otherwise I'd still be living on my wits as a solicitor in Manchester and I doubt, if we met by happenchance, you'd follow me there." His voice got unexpectedly sharp. His gaze bore into hers.

That cut too close to the truth for Mary's acceptance. "Oh Matthew I….I" She balled her hands in fists at her sides. "I don't honestly know."

Her candor was all he wanted. "It's fine Mary. I don't want you to have to lie to spare my feelings. I know the answer." He had known it for a very long time.

"Why do I get the feeling that my taking a lover to bed is less loathsome to you than my potential rejection based on your station in life?" Her perplexed expression made him love her even more.

"Because I can be as contrary as I want." Matthew said.

He moved to kiss her, but she walked away from him. "I'm not even sure that's a fair question."

He sighed and shook his head. "But we won't have to ever worry about that now."

"Now because we live in more modern times? Or because you have forgiven me?" Mary stubbornly needed an answer.

'Forgiven you?" His sudden burst of anger already subsided. "What is there to forgive?"

"Don't men demand apologies?" She asked. "We had a governess that said we must apologize for our actions or face rejection by our husbands."

He snorted in derision at that. "Well that's not me. You don't need my forgiveness. Not then. Not now."

She still looked unconvinced.

He closed his eyes then reopened them. Gazing at her with as much love as he could muster he said, "Mary darling, know this, there has always been and only will ever be one woman that has held my undying love and attention."

"And my misgivings never turned you away?" Her eyes probed him. She was regaining her perspective. "I think such reservations are natural."

He would not be drawn back into those heart shredding emotions of doubt and fear.

"Yes, you are ever the practical one. And I was wrong to consider that you should always think as I do. I now know that I would have you no other way. Our strength lies in our differences."

She looked deep in his eyes and found she believed him. They remained locked hand and heart for several seconds before she let go.

"We are very good together." She caressed his cheek. Kissed him deep. Then turned her attention towards the entrance to Downton. "Now." She said with decision. "Shall we see what these modern philistines have made of my home?"

XX

Matthew realized that the closer Mary moved towards her past, the more she reverted back to her old self. Her body grew straighter. She put her hair up in a curled bun. She glanced down at her wardrobe and seemed to question its appropriateness for walking into the castle.

"Maybe I should have worn that blue lace dress." She muttered to herself.

Matthew found it endearing. Especially that she seemed not to notice at all. Her accent sharpened with every step. "Everyone has lowered standards so much these days. Look at them just standing atop each other. What are they doing?" And she pointed to the tourists wandering around the pebbled walkways taking photographs of each other maneuvering around trying to get as much of the castle in the background as possible.

Matthew laughed. "They're just having a good time."

His own observations took his eyes towards the house. And a growing awareness that they were truly living in surreal times. While Mary was looking out over the grounds of the estate, he looked up towards the front entrance. His eyes grew wide in a combination of horror and fascination that the standard strung on the right side of the castle entrance was his own face. Wearing the white straw hat he usually donned for the summer picnics on the lawn. He glanced to the left and saw the complementary image of Mary in her striped gown, white gloves, and dainty umbrella. The cross connecting banner, fluttering in the slight wind, contained the headliner " _Downton Days: The Vanishing of Mary and Matthew._ "

"To think I lived to see that." He thought. "We truly are moving through Mr. Well's time machine."

He nudged Mary to turn around see it for herself. She gasped and brought her hand to her face. A stupefied "Oh my God" was all she could muster.

They were struck dumb by this most unexpected of visions. As well they seemed rooted to the spot. Unable to shift, they stared at their own images. Then turned to each other. Mary arched an eyebrow. Matthew puckered his lips.

Both were in a state of shock and felt powerless to fight the surreal images of their life played out in front of their eyes.

There was nothing left to do but go with it. Laughter danced on the tip of their lips.

Matthew let go first. It was just too farcical for words. His facial muscles twitched. Then the snort at the back of the throat. And finally his body convulsed and he lost it.

Mary joined him. They held onto each other until each were fighting for breath and red faced.

"It's not funny at all." Mary finally managed to get out. "They all think we disappeared. We…"

"Vanished?!" Matthew's arm flung out his hand wide and his voice taking on the histrionic quality he heard in movie trailers when Melisa and Chris had taken him to see the new (as they had to inform him) Avengers flick. He had not clue one what was going on in the movie, but he had been fascinated by the fast paced images and voices.

Mary leaned into him again, heaving with mirth. "Stop it." Her arm around his shoulder for support. But she could not help it either.

"Sorry." He said. Shook his head and tried to sober up. Which turned out wasn't hard to do once he glanced around and realized they had caused a bit of a stir. Several of the tourists pointed at them and the whispering and murmuring started up again.

He overheard "Why aren't they in period costume? I mean really… " and "No...you go over and ask to take their picture." He began to reconsider their decision to visit Downton at all when three women descended on them staring and declaring as if they were some kind of statue or waxwork and not living, breathing human beings "They look exactly like Mary and Matthew. Like exactly!" And started to prod them into position to take a photograph with them all.

"Get your hands off me, if you please." Mary's icy tone was unmistakable. And not to be ignored.

They removed their fingers from her arm and backed off mumbling in an American drawl… "Geezus I mean they are employed to take pictures right?"

Matthew steered Mary away. But turned back to salvage some good will, saying to the women who openly stared at him with a kind of reverence, "I will take one with you, if you promise to get my good side."

"You don't have a bad one honey..." One of the ladies said winking, making Matthew blush even as she tried to squeeze his rear as her hand snaked around his waist.

Mary rolled her eyes. She reached out to take his hand. He reluctantly pulled away.

"What?" He asked, his eyes smoldering and flirtatious. He pulled her close for a kiss. "They think we're actors or something. It's all in fun."

"You're taking far too much delight from our predicament." She said. "Besides it only feeds your already rather insufferably high opinion of yourself."

Matthew's mouth twisted into a mock grin. "Takes one to know one."

She side-eyed him, but did not rejoinder a denial.

"Really though. Thank you for intervening back there before I said something rude."

"They do beg to be teased." He had to say. "But it's probably for the best that we keep to ourselves." And he pulled a pair of sunglasses he bought while in London out of the top unbuttoned portion of his shirt.

"Oh that will help." Mary said dripping with sarcasm. "No one will recognize you now."

He tugged his head to the right. "Come on. Let's go inside. Get this over with."

So with that they clasped hands, walked under the waving banners, and into the house. Bombarded almost immediately by the sounds of tour guides announcing the 11am tour begins in five minutes and the video installation of the history of the castle playing in a corner of the saloon.

A table was set up next to the video and a young woman seemed to be signing autographed copies of a book. The title of which was the same as the exhibit banner. Matthew blanched as he realized they were the subject of a true crime investigation. He eased over to the table and picked up a copy trying now much more seriously to remain inconspicuous.

What he read again made him both amused and sickened. The author had done a sufficient amount of research to identify all the main family members. She quickly moved from a history of the Crawley family and their earldom granted in the time of the Restoration through the financial crises of the third earl and the search for a new heir after the tragedy of the Titanic. His own history was sketchy at best, giving nothing but his Rugby public school years followed by his university achievements at Oxford and his time as a legal clerk in Manchester. The bulk of the book centered on Sybil's ball and the events that surrounded the disappearance first of Lady Mary Crawley and several weeks later of the heir himself Matthew Crawley. There it went off into various theories of their vanishing. That they had taken a voyage to the Antipodes to start a new life in Australia, or maybe instead the wilderness of Canada. Or that they had boarded a ship and in a pact of tragic love had thrown themselves overboard.

"Now why in hell would either of us do that?" Matthew scoffed as he read that idea. "I'm the heir and Mary could have married some duke and moved to a far richer estate than Downton. Why would we kill ourselves?"

The man standing beside him, oblivious finally to any spark of recognition, said in response "I'd run the fuck out of Dodge, man if I was those two." He smacked his tongue against his teeth.

Matthew's eyes shot up. "Really?" As if he was just another tourist at this surreal exhibit of his own life. "I mean what about the house? The title?"

"Nuthin' compared to the money, man. The money is all. Take it and run!" He elbowed Mathew sharp in the ribs and laughing to himself he moved towards the café serving tea and cakes in the corner of the landing.

Matthew knew it as the alcove where Robert had installed the first telephone a few weeks before he left. "Left." He chuffed to himself even as he thought the words. "As if I had a choice." He scratched his cheek and considered what the forthright visitor had said to him. That he and Mary could just up and leave taking some of his inheritance with him. The American obviously had no clue about entail law.

Nor it seemed did the author, one Gwyneth Swann. He ended up buying the book, avoiding catching her eye as he paid. He did not want to be drawn into another awkward encounter.

Of course the answer was that Ms. Swann had no idea what happened and simply played out scenario after scenario. Ancient astronauts and crop circles were brought up leading to paranormal abduction by aliens theory or some kind of space time vortex removing them from their earthly bodies and moving them into another dimension.

"Well that one came closest to the truth." He admitted. Matthew's rational mind still had a hard time grasping the event that brought him into the 21st century. Had someone else told him of the possibility of moving through time he would have worried about their sanity. But it had happened. He was here. Mary was here.

And he knew, he couldn't explain how, but he knew in his bones that they could return. Most probably by the way they came. Both had journeyed through the mist, the dust in the Mall in London. In all their months living in the capital neither had walked the Mall again. At first because they wanted to find each other. Then events of the reunion, marriage, honeymoon, and trip back to York prevented it.

And the truth was they weren't ready to go. They were enjoying their time in this future. Especially now that they were together.

But now … here… Mary felt the pull of home. And he felt the tug of war. The other major exhibit in this Downton Days fete was another in the centenary installations this time highlighting Downton's role as a convalescent home. He read no further. Pulled his cheek down his face and walked away. The future, their future, was yet to be written. They had things to do here and now. The future would take care of itself.

He went instead in search of Mary. He needed to see her. To be with her. The house must be overwhelming in its reminders of home and family. They should face it all together.

XX

Mary had taken the stairs up to the second floor, avoiding the crush of people on the landing scrutinizing at the many portraits and paintings. Only reluctantly she turned to look. And knew she would both regret and feel the pang of longing if she did. And in looking at the portrait on the wall, she felt the earth fall out from beneath her. Like she was falling. Unable to get her bearings. Unable to take her eyes away.

Her father's eyes stared out direct into hers. And they were sad eyes. As if he had lost everything. Her mother had aged years and drained of color, worn out. Neither Sybil nor Edith were in the portrait.

Mary's heart was in her throat. What had time done to her family? Matthew's earlier fears that they had caused their own family's despair now gripped her. The fun and games were over. This needed resolution, and fast.

She gripped the railing and walked on, drawn towards her bedroom. The last steps were the hardest. What would her room look like? Would it have been turned into a gift shop? Would it still be hers? Or someone else's? It had turned out that Downton was no longer in her family. The brochure Matthew picked up when they paid their entrance fee (How absurd she had exclaimed, but said no more) had said that the Earl of Grantham had been forced to sell Downton in 1921 after a series of bad investments. With no heir in reach (the last known one had died of old age before even being contacted after Matthew's disappearance) the title had lapsed and the land sold off piecemeal while the house transferred many times until being donated finally to English Heritage and a foundation of donors.

It was all too depressing for words Mary had said and stopped Matthew before he read any more. She now knew he was right.

They had to return to their own time. This interlude, this escape into an unrestricted future, one where her past could be shed and she unencumbered by convention or society had been glorious. She had done more, experienced things both sensual and sublime than she would have ever expected. Had gotten drunk with her friends. Worked in a shop of all things. Married the man she loved and then made mad passionate love to that man all night long.

And it had made her a better person. More understanding. Less aloof. Less judgmental.

But it was over.

Her family, perhaps in some kind of strange karmic balance as Antoinette would say, suffered. They grieved while she celebrated life. They faced privations of loss while she and Matthew had triumphed in love. For reasons she was still too afraid to learn, her sisters were no longer a part of the family circle. Their absence from the family portrait pained her, as if part of herself was missing. What had become of them?

Of course as she reminded Matthew earlier, this time was not fixed. If they returned everything would change.

Her room was the same. The bed, the coverings a close reproduction stood in the center of the room. The window curtains open to the prospect below.

She walked towards the window. Pulled it back and gazed out in silence. There was no one else in the room to break her reverie.

Until she heard Matthew's pleasing voice "May I come in?" He was at the door. Leaning his shoulder against the door frame and watching her. But given the events of this room uppermost in his mind even as he tried to shove away the images, he wanted her to know he would not enter without her permission.

She turned. Their eyes fell upon the other across the space. She smiled. "Of course. You are my husband now, all things are permitted."

Her beauty, her strength overwhelmed him. His life, as good as it had been in the past and in this future, was nothing without her. "Can I kiss you?"

Mary's head upturned in surprise.

"Because I need to…." He smiled as her lips part in anticipation.

"Very much…." And he crossed the space between them. He closed his eyes as he took her in his arms. Their arms slipped around each other. Both oblivious even had someone intruded into this private interlude. This moment, in her room, them together, would be theirs alone.

Mary opened her eyes briefly as their lips part, his still closed. He was so true. So honest. So very much the man who would be by her side. Her Perseus. How could she ever have doubted him?

She said with purpose, "I'm ready to go back. I want to go home again."

Matthew nodded deliberately, pondering in parts the logistics of just such a leap into the dark again. "Let's spend the night in Downton Village and then travel back to London tomorrow. I would…" here he hesitated a bit, "I need to stay about a week longer. I hate to leave Roger with this project half done. I'd feel I had cheated him. Do you mind?"

"No." She said, "You would not be yourself if you did anything else." She kissed his cheek slowly. "We both have some ends to clear up. Let's spend the next few days figuring everything out. Then we'll try to find our way back."

"Back to our own future." He said. "I like the sound of that."

XX

Reviews appreciated more then you know!  
 _I hoped you liked this chapter. The story is taking on a life of its own now… going places I was not expecting it to. Some more surprises will await them as they spend the night in a local Downton inn… especially the owners of that inn. Don't know if the story is nearing a natural conclusion… I was planning on ending it with their wedding in their own time…. Not sure now!_


	7. Chapter 7 : Time Lost

Finally back to our time travelers!

Previously

 _She said with purpose, "I'm ready to go back. I want to go home again."_

 _Matthew nodded deliberately, pondering in part the logistics of just such a leap into the dark again. "Let's spend the night in Downton Village and then travel back to London tomorrow. I would…" and here he hesitated a bit, "erm...I need to stay about a week longer. I hate to leave Roger with this project half done. I'd feel I had cheated him. Do you mind?"_

 _"No." She said, "You would not be yourself if you did anything else." She kissed his cheek slowly. "We both have some ends to clear up. Let's spend the next few days figuring everything out. Then we'll try to find our way back."_

 _"Back to our own future." He said. "I like the sound of that."_

XX

 _All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring_

Matthew pointed out various small bed and breakfast locales as they strolled through town, trying to find a place to stay the night.

Mary pulled her lip down in disapproval, unimpressed. They walked on.

Matthew's expense account had helped purchase toiletries and sundries for the unexpected overnight stay. Mary put on a pair of dark glasses and a hat and walked into a store to find an outfit to wear the following day. She bought Matthew some necessities as well.

He was again scouting around when she came out and he pointed down a picturesque backstreet. She nodded and they walked on. Both more and more conscious of causing a stir. Even the village had gotten into the "Downton Days" spirit and they saw more of the same images of themselves scattered on postcards, mugs, and souvenir flags.

The window display of a Royal Doulton figurine of Mary in a stunning red gown was the final straw. Beautiful in its own strange, unreal way, it made her head hurt.

She could not get the portrait of her family sans children out of her mind. So sad, so empty, it haunted her. She had always taken Sybil's love and affection for granted. Had mocked her sister Edith mercilessly. She thought her parents would live forever.

Yet that portrait showed her father, tired and careworn. Her mother, thin and faded with some unknown pain.

She needed to know what happened. Where were her sisters?

Edith had ever gone her own way. Mary never allied to her. But Sybil. Dear, sweet Sybil. Mary remembered the infant Sybil squeaking and mewing in sounds that mimicked a cat. She recalled the day her bold six year old self took Sybil for her first walk around the house. She gotten into trouble for that. Mr. Carson had found them sprawled on the second floor landing after attempting the long flight of stairs up to the forbidden servants' quarters.

He never told her parents.

Then long walks around the estate as they grew older. Exchanging their innermost thoughts and hopes.

When had it all ended? When she was forced into the engagement with Patrick? When she had first begun to realize her father loved the estate more than he did her? She had put on armour of indifference. She shut everyone out.

Including Sybil. Including Matthew. She remembered the very first time their eyes connected.

Her eyes flashed. Gave him a quick appraisal. A measuring up, she recalled. And later dismissal as she told her siblings he was full of himself. Not worth her time.

What had he thought? To her great consternation it had never crossed her mind. She had taken his interest in her for granted.

"What did you really think of me when we first met?" She asked him as they walked rather aimlessly around Downton Village.

Matthew remembered stumbling upon his words. About having one of the daughters pushed on him as he was a bachelor. And her delightfully raconteur response, "I wouldn't want to push in…"

God how young and innocent they were, he thought. And yet even then her mere presence threatened to overpower him.

"You deigned to set your gaze at me as a goddess on Olympus looked upon a dirty mortal," he paused, and looked openly back at Mary "and I knew, without doubt, I was destined to love you all the days of my life."

His lips grazed the knuckles of her outstretched hand. By her splendor he was consumed.

She flushed, unable to say anything. Mary knew the sway she held over men. It had ever been so since she was first allowed on the dance floor. Sniffing around her, throwing idle compliments at her, she pretending to be impressed. She made them her playthings and enjoyed the control.

Her papa saw it and despaired she would ever find a husband. Find love.

That had never been a problem for her. She knew she'd never marry for love. For property, yes. For a title, most probably.

Never for love.

At least not until Matthew Crawley turned around, gawped at her in such an open faced, despairing look of love.

Her heart had opened a tiny inch in that moment. She slammed it shut of course, but she knew the truth of it.

Glancing at her, he said, "I don't think you felt the same."

And she had to admit it had taken her longer. There was a time she'd have laughed at his truth and thrown back a particularly insolent bon mot to show her disdain.

Time, however, had been a harsh mistress. She had felt so confused in the 21st century when she first arrived. Without bearings. Without an anchor. Without Matthew.

"I wasn't used to throwing my heart away. That was ever Edith's milieu." She admitted.

Even now she had difficulty with such self-reflection. So Mary turned it around on him. "When do you think?" She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"You want me to speculate when you fell in love with me? Let me see…" He scratched his cheek and looked pensive.

"Watch yourself mister…" She warned, trying to pass off her sudden attack of nerves as idle flirtation. Did she even know when it happened?

"The morning of the flower show preparation?" He offered up. "I was at my most disarming. Even you agreed I wasn't such a dull boy."

She shook her head. "Sadly no. Besides later that evening you stomped off in such a fit."

"Right." He thought ruefully. He had been so self-righteously jealous of her attentions to that older neighbour.

He could laugh about it now. "But we had been getting on so well."

"Laughing at poor salty pudding?" Mary once again began to titter with amusement as she remembered Sir Anthony's crumpled face.

"Good God…" Matthew spewed forth, imitating Sir Anthony.

That made her laugh even harder until they were once again in paroxysms, huddling against each other for support.

Tourists in Downton Village began to take notice.

"We're drawing attention again," she whispered in between chuckles. "Let's duck down here." And she pulled him down a side street.

"I shouldn't admit to this," Mary said, keeping his hand in hers. "It was even before the flower show. I think it was when you showed me such compassion about the entail. And I went to say good-bye and said it would have to be my consolation prize."

"I took your hand…" he began, remembering the touch of her linen glove in his fingers. She had kept it for that ever so unexpected second longer than convention allowed.

"You said it troubled you a great deal. A very great deal…" Mary heard his deep sincerity once again in her memory. No one had ever said anything like that to her. To show her such compassion, such selfless empathy.

"I felt a flicker I was not expecting." She admitted. "And something else I did not want to confess." Their eyes had met in that unexpected second. Her heart leapt at his touch. She loved him.

Matthew squinted in the sun. He needed to see her face. To see the truth in her eyes that he had hoped to see lo those many years ago now. He thought at the time, in that the moment alone in the library, that it was a game changer. But it had been only a fleeting second. A wisp of a thing.

He had seen that flicker. It made his heart nearly burst into pieces. He had felt for the first time he had a chance.

"But, alas," He tried to be humorous, "I was not Perseus. Or even polite enough to let you win at dinner."

"On first meeting, it's always polite to not outwit your host." She nudged her head teasingly in his direction.

"You simply were not used to someone thrusting back…erm…so to speak." He retorted back.

"I granted you my attention." Mary said. "Admiration even."

Matthew countered, "Ooh, attention and admiration! Well well, I must say I'm glad I evinced some emotional stirrings in you..." He grabbed her closer to his chest.

You were quite rude that night." Breathless as he laid a kiss upon her lips.

"I had to be." He exclaimed. "You expected all men to fall at your feet."

"And you did…" Her tongue slipped along his lips.

"That's beside the point…" Matthew succumbed once again, and their bodies collapsed against the wall of a building as the kiss became cavernous, passionately roaming and searching. His hands strayed around until they rested against her rear. He squeezed and drew her even closer. Her lips slithered against his teeth.

"We won't be able to do much of this when we go back." His deep voice in her ear making her shiver with delight.

Mary suddenly turned serious. "My sisters need me." She tucked her head into his neck. His embrace squeezed hard.

"Let's find a place to stay." He reluctantly let go and glanced around. He said, with a bit of a shock "Look over there."

"Maybe it's a portent?" Mary followed his finger to see the sign tucked down around the corner. "Crawley House Inn" She exclaimed.

"We must have come up the other side of the church." He said, finally getting his bearings. "They must have sold it off."

They walked towards what was to Matthew the front entrance to the house he shared with his mother. He had, to his mind, just recently sold the Manchester residence he had inherited on his 21st birthday via his father's instructions in his will. It had never been a question that until he married, Matthew would allow his mother to reside in the family home. But since the two of them had permanently moved to York, Isobel had agreed to Matthew selling their home in Manchester and using the proceeds to make some improvements to Crawley House. Matthew had wanted to update the kitchen for his mother. It was to be a birthday present for her. He scratched his head in astonishment as he approached the door.

"I feel as if I was just here." He mused, turning to Mary. "Going to London for Sybil's season."

Mary took his hand. "Let's go in." She had little surprise left in her after all the changes at Downton. It was all too overwhelming to take in.

They approached the front desk. Or what had been their front sitting room, Matthew thought. "Hello." He said. And the pleasant faced, blonde woman turned from her laptop to face the couple.

"Good afternoon." Her accent clearly a broad northern. "Would you like a room?"

Mary nodded as Matthew was still looking around, a bit out of it.

"Lucky you. We had a cancellation otherwise we're full up. Because of the games at the big house." She then took the time to look at the young couple before her. The woman's chestnut brown hair. Her intelligent gaze. The man's blonde waves that he continually pushed back against his skull. His obvious confusion.

They couldn't be? She thought. Could they? She glanced at a picture frame behind her. One of Matthew Crawley circa 1913. He was the very mirror image of the man.

"Are you taking part in it all?" She asked. "Or relations to the Crawley's?"

Mary thought on her feet. "Yes. My husband is distantly related to Isobel Turnbull Crawley. We came down as a bit of a lark."

Matthew silently harrumphed approval. "That's a good one." He muttered under his breath.

"Right." The inn owner said, rather still questioning. "What name shall I put in for the room confirmation?"

Matthew said without missing a beat now, "Matthew Turnbull."

The two eyed each other. No backing down no, Matthew said evenly. "My wife, Mary."

"Pleased to have you here." The owner said, refusing to be nonplused. "My husband in particular. He's connected to the family as well. He's the great grandson of his lordship's valet."

Mary blurted out. "Bates?" She said, before Matthew elbow shushed her into silence.

"Yes. Yes that's the one." The woman could no longer hide her interest. "Are you sure you're not…"

Matthew interjected. "And your name?" And he turned on as much of the supposed Crawley charm as he could muster. He slowly pulled off his sunglasses, his blue eyes blinked and opened large. He took her outstretched palm in a hand shake. His fingers sinuously enclosed hers.

She was suitably distracted.

"Sarah." Said a bit breathless. "Sarah Bates."

Mary had to roll her eyes at her husband's audacity.

"How do you do." Matthew smoothly followed up. "What's the best room you have? There's a lovely window l saw from the street? Looking down into the garden?" He pointed vaguely up the stairs. As if to give the impression he had no idea which direction he meant.

"Yes. That's our best suite." Sarah moved to get the key.

"Really." Matthew smiled beatifically, as if he already knew that. "We'll take it."

Mary had a feeling she knew Matthew's motivation. She sidled up to him as he paid the cash. Sarah turned into the office to get a receipt, allowing Mary to whisper "Is that your room?"

Matthew turned a bright shade of pink. Caught out, he thought. "Yes." Said shamelessly in her ear. "Can you imagine? We can spend the night there. Every boy's dream."

He was positively giddy at the prospect.

"You never..." Mary called him out. "I would never have thought that."

"You weren't stuck in a smelly boy's dormitory at school for years on end." He gave her a pleading side eye. "Come on…"

"I can get in the spirit of things…" Then darkened. "But…"

"I know my darling." He squeezed her arm sympathetically. "We'll settle it all out. Make everything right."

They were distracted from that reverie by the owner. "This way." She said. Matthew grabbed their overnight bag and followed Mary up the stairs.

His room had been painted. Fresh flowers on the table. New window treatments. But the bed was the same. New duvet and pillows. But he knew the headboard and frame.

"It's just charming." Mary said. Sarah showed her the newly installed en suite bath. That had been the small sitting room he had used as an office. Matthew approved. He hated walking down the drafty hall in the early winter mornings to shave and wash.

They were left to themselves with an invitation from the owner. "I'm sure my husband would want to talk with you. Maybe we could have a drink after dinner?"

Matthew agreed with a certain amount of trepidation. Would their news of family history disturb Mary even further? He turned to get her concurrence.

She nodded. "That would be lovely."

Sarah Bates, about to close the door, said "Around 9pm then. See you later."

As soon as the door closed, they collapsed upon the bed. Sudden exhaustion from the pretense downstairs overtaking them.

Matthew's head sank into the down pillow. Mary curled up next to him. He adjusted so that they spooned into each other. His hand wrapped around her waistline. His breath on the nape of her neck. She enclosed her legs around his.

Remaining quiet for long moments, he finally whispered, "Are you asleep?"

"No." She snuggled closer. His warmth, his physical presence she needed all the more in this unreality.

"Good." His hands grew bolder. The left lifting her shirt and caressing her breast. He nuzzled the long, slender nape of her neckline. His nose tickling her collarbone, he laid kisses across her shoulder.

Mary murmured her approval towards his ministrations. So Matthew slowly moved atop her body. He lifted off the shirt and newly purchased brassiere. His mouth sucked her nipples. She groaned and slipped her hands near his crotch to undo his jeans. He shimmied out of them to allow her hands to roam freely arousing him to painful levels of excitement.

He backed her head against the headboard as he snaked down to remove the rest of her clothes. His lips touched her inner thigh, sending her into a shuddering sigh. He felt her skin pucker and shake against his cheek. His instinct to continue lapping and lavishing kisses along her thigh while slipping his tongue in and out of her most sensitive spot was met with even louder moans of pleasure. Sounds of such ecstasy drove him on and on.

"Matthew…." Her mouth dry, she spoke his name in a way he had never thought to hear it. Darkly seductive, her face in a kind of trancelike bliss. Her eyes closed, her body in rhythm with his. Her escalation of moans meaning he was getting closer and closer to her climax.

"Come here…Come here…" she demanded with intent. Pulling him up towards her. She opened her thighs in invitation. He plunged in. His groans of pleasure and hip thrusting action rocked and shook her against the headboard. Mary grasped the end posts, one in each hand, thrusting her breasts out, much to his visual pleasure. He penetrated further into her body, powerful lunges that made his groans rumbling and her cries louder. He slowed his actions to enhance her pleasure. His grinding action found the ridge of her sensitivity. Her hands slammed his rear towards her body, forcing his weight straight down on her.

The groan that action elicited from her body was delicious. Wave upon wave of pleasure wracked her body. His thrusts met their match and he climaxed with a shuddering surge and fell against her. His sticky heat against her naked form demonstrative of his concentrated exertions. Spent. Adrift in this new world, they clung to each other.

"That was quite good." Matthew grunted and moved aside so they could snuggle once again. "I can get quite used to this…"

Mary could only giggle. "I don't think Mama would like to hear all our groaning. She'd be quite astonished."

"Hmmmm…." Matthew nuzzled closer. "I'm not sure we were quiet at all here either. That slamming on the headboard certainly drew downstairs attention…."

Mary flushed again. "How can we go to drinks with them after that?" She beetled her eyes in embarrassment.

Matthew smirked in amusement. "We're on our honeymoon. As you said my love, all things are allowed."

As if to show that he was in no hurry at all for this afternoon to end, Matthew sprawled out, the covers on the bed askew. He wanted to remember every touch. Every sound. Every freedom. Being able to do what they wanted, when they wanted to do it. No one telling them otherwise.

If he wanted to stay here, naked and alone with his wife for the entirety of the afternoon, no one could tell them otherwise.

That freedom was intoxicating. He had felt it in his job and in his social interactions as well. Of course class still existed. It wouldn't be England if class didn't still matter. But he worked with people from across what had been the British Empire, now called the Commonwealth. As far flung as Nigeria and the South Pacific Islands, his colleagues were the beneficiaries of modern, more enlightened views on gender, class and race. His friends, as well as Mary's included people from a variety of cultural backgrounds. The introduction of ethnic food was particularly mouthwatering fun.

They had lunch early that same day at an Indian take away. Of course Anglo-Indian interactions were among the earliest and most complex of imperial relations, but neither had ever eaten Indian cuisine. The dish of roasted chunks of chicken tikka in a spicy sauce was delicious.

"Do you think Mrs. Patmore could make this for us when we get back?" He had joked. The marinated chicken in masala spices, the wafting smell from the tandoor oven luring them into the shop in the first place, was unlike anything he had consumed.

"I very much doubt she'd even try to pronounce it." Mary said, as she scooped another chunk into her mouth.

They had taken the dishes outside to take advantage of the sun and the view along the side street. Downton Village had changed so much.

"Loose morality would also not go down well. Carson would despair." Matthew observed, watching young couples arm and arm kiss and cuddle in the public space.

"Chop and change…Mr. Crawley he'd say…chop and change…." Matthew's spot on imitation made Mary laugh.

"Oh say what you will, Carson is not always wrong to keep up traditions." Mary chided him.

"You're ever his favorite." Matthew responded, "He doesn't like me coming in to steal your fortune. I'm not even in Burke's Peerage."

"Not yet." Mary smiled, "Papa is working on that entry."

Matthew side-eyed her. "Of course."

"You don't mind, do you?" Mary asked, concerned again about Matthew fitting into her family.

"No. I don't mind." He took her hand. "It's just that here, in this new life we find ourselves. I like its greater sense of social equality. That I don't need to measure up. That you don't need to search out a rich husband. You can do what you want."

"Can you give it up?" Mary was suddenly concerned again that Matthew would want to stay.

He gazed steadily back at her. Calming her fears. "Yes I can. It just might make me work harder though in our own time for change."

Mary nodded in agreement. If change was to come, as the future inevitably brought, she did not want to be left behind. Some relic of a bygone era. This she was surer of than ever.

Laying with Matthew later that afternoon, after their love making, Mary rested her hand on his chest. Her head crooked into his neck. She tickled him, he chuckled in that deep throaty way that she had grown to love.

They had turned the television on. Matthew idly flipped the channels. The device fascinated him.

"We really should make a move." He finally said. The dusk was settling outside. "You want to shower first?" But his hands were roaming once again amongst the loose locks of hair that were splayed against the pillows, and pulled her close for a kiss.

Her head came up to meet his hungry eyes. "Why don't we take one together?" And she glided slowly off the bed towards the en suite bath.

He followed directly. The image on the TV though capturing him for a second. It was an episode of a science fiction show apparently, about a time traveling doctor.

"Coming?" Mary said, seductive and cool.

"Of course." But out of the corner of his eye he saw a woman flash a card and say "Harriet Jones." And the response "Yes I know who you are…"

For reasons he did not understand it disconcerted him no end.

XX

"Another whisky Matthew?" Nicholas Bates asked. They sat in the part of Crawley House that was the old morning room at the back of the house. Also redecorated and repainted, Matthew hardly recognized it.

"Absolutely." He handed the inn owner his glass. "Glenkinchie is it?"

"Yes it is. How did you know?"

Matthew slowly savoured yet another sip. Without thinking he said, "I took trips to Scotland while at university and toured the East Lothian distilleries." Only after the words left his mouth did he realize that the location might not still be open in the 21st century, but Nicholas did not react so he got away with it.

"We try to give a variety of spirits for guests." He sat back down next to his wife.

Mary tried not to stare too much at Nicholas Bates. He was the picture of his great grandfather. Dark haired, stocky built and twinkling blue eyes even his voice held the soft burr of his Irish ancestors.

"Were you up to the big house this morning?" Nicholas asked. If he also thought the same of the couple before him, that they might as well hire themselves out as clones of Mary and Matthew Crawley for all future festival dates at Downton, he too kept it close to the vest.

"Yes." Matthew said, trying not to give too much away that they were in search of information. But curiosity got the better of him. "That portrait of the family at the first landing. Why is it only of Lord and Lady Grantham?"

Mary moved uncomfortably next to him on the divan. She both desperately wanted and not wanted to know this answer.

"That's an interesting tale for sure. You can't help but know about Mary, of course." Nicholas had to glance at the young woman who was the spitting image of the girl who disappeared in 1914.

Mary remained enigmatically silent.

"Lady Edith, the middle sister, she ran off first with a farmer during the war."

Matthew nearly spit out his drink. "She what?"

Sarah smiled. "That's not even the half of it. Just wait."

Mary could only well believe that. Her sister would be capable of most things.

"She came home after the man's wife found them out. After the war, she began an affair with a newspaperman in London. That was the last straw for Lord Grantham, and he exiled her from the family. The scandal was too much. Especially after she gave birth to an illegitimate child."

Mary blanched. So it was to be Edith bringing shame on the family rather than herself. To think her father would do such a thing only confirmed her worst suspicions about his reaction to Pamuk.

She managed to ask, "What happened to her? To this child?"

"Much of that remains a mystery. I believe they immigrated to the states sometime in the 30s. Never really heard from since. Especially after the house was sold off and the family dispersed."

Mary sunk into despair. "I see."

Matthew reached out to support her. He gripped her hand. "What about the youngest? I read she was a nurse in the Great War." He tried to sound as if he knew what he was talking about.

"Lady Sybil, yes. A great tragedy. She married the chauffeur."

Mary gasped. So Matthew was right in his suspicions.

"They moved to Ireland after Lord Grantham refused to acknowledge Tom Branson as his son-in-law. She died in childbirth, I believe." Nicholas got up to refresh glasses again.

Mary demurred a refill. She tried to hold back the tears that immediately formed behind her eyes.

She could not hear any more. "I'm so sorry. I feel a bad head ache coming on. I think I'll go up." She reached out to stay Matthew in his seat. "You can stay."

Matthew, overwhelmed as well, lifted himself out of the seat. "I can join you."

"I hope I haven't given offense. The story is very sad. And it is somewhat about your relatives…." Nicholas bit his lip in concern.

"No no." Matthew said. "It's just been a very long day. You've been most informative. And most kind. Thank you."

Nicholas and he remained to talk a few minutes more.

It turned out Matthew wanted to make sure Mary was not too overwhelmed by the family's misfortunes. So he did not tarry long downstairs.

Mary moved towards the stairs to the upper floor. She opened the door to Matthew's old room and waited for him to come up.

Very shortly thereafter, the door closed. Matthew enveloped her in his arms. She was shaking.

"Oh my darling, my love." Matthew's voice soothed her. How could she have coped with all this without him? "Remember nothing is written that we cannot change."

She said, somewhat muffled as she stayed close to the warmth of his chest "I have to believe I can change this."

"I know that I shouldn't be informed too much about the future. About the war for instance. But I think in the case of family, I think we can make exceptions."

"I have to save her." Mary was pale. "Sybil….oh Sybil…."

"We'll be leaving tomorrow for London. I just need a couple of days to clear things up with Roger. You have my word."

Mary collapsed in his arms. She would stay that way all the night long.

XX

 _Reviews are so lovely!_

 _Blame rap541 for putting a certain idea in my head...lol_

 _Our next chapter will see them make the time leap attempt…. After the fancy dress ball was over…_


	8. Chapter 8: Time to Make Decisions

" _The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." Bertrand Russell_

XX

Matthew approached the leafy Kensington neighborhood of the Feddens. He dug in his pocket for his key.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Mary asked surprisingly nervous. "Maybe I should just go back to the old flat."

Matthew's face turned down. "But I want you to meet everyone. And we can stay in my room."

"That tiny space?" Mary was doubtful. "Besides what about your in house inamorata?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Susanna has just a girlish crush. She is really is very young."

"And rather supercilious towards those not her social equals?" Mary's memory was fixed on that young woman and the unfriendly dismissal of her when she served Susanna and Matthew while at the vintage clothing store.

"Yes." Matthew admitted. "That's true. She is a bit of a snob." He could only twitch his lips and sidle his eyes towards Mary.

She noticed. "I am not a snob." Mary sniffed. "She thinks she's better simply because of gaudy taste and faux manners."

"That's a bit harsh." Matthew replied. "She's simply not had much real world experience. Her father indulges her far too much." Something else he could say applied to Mary, but he restrained himself.

"Very typical of so many I saw in the shop." Mary acutely observed. "They come in with Daddy's credit card and think nothing of spending hundreds of pounds on expensive items because of the associative designer's name without truly knowing anything of their intrinsic artistry or the hard work that went in to creating them."

Matthew waited for Mary to make the connection herself.

She rolled her eyes right back at him. "And I know what you're going to say. I, and those of my class, did the same for centuries. And look what happened, we are now completely irrelevant in modern society because we destroyed ourselves by not changing with the times."

Matthew nodded in agreement. Rather like a schoolteacher, proud of a star pupil.

"Don't look so smug Matthew." She retorted. "Not your best quality."

"Sorry." Matthew looked properly chastised. "But it is true. The aristocracy made themselves irrelevant not just because of the outdated ideas of noblesse oblige or God given rights, but because they refused to move with the times." Matthew continued, "I mean does using the proper knife really matter? Or was it merely a way to show observable superiority."

"It mattered." Mary countered, "As Carson said, "There are rules for every level of society. You play the game by their rules or you lose."

"Yes but they want it both ways. Have these standards, these supposed moral values, and then break them in private whenever they chose. As long as it never got out, all the better." Matthew spluttered. "It's just so much hypocrisy." He looked over at her with a pained glance. "And innocent people get hurt." It was left unsaid that he referred to her own unpleasant encounter.

"Thank you for that." She said gently. Kissed him on the cheek. "So will you be intent on revolution when we arrive back at Downton." Mary inquired in a mocking tone.

"Maybe just kicking the traces a bit." He took her hand. "We've had this opportunity to get to know each other. I want to make something of it is all."

"Change does not come easy." Mary reminded him. "What were we supposed to do? Worn rags and gave everything to the poor. I don't know that my giving up everything would have benefitted society in any meaningful way. Papa always said he's just a custodian of Downton. That's it part of his duty to respect the past and carry it on so that others can build a future."

"Like us you mean?" Matthew said. "As the heir and mother of the future heir."

Mary patted her belly. "That will come as a separate shock to them."

"We'll deal with that as and when." Matthew gave her a reassuring hug. "Besides I never expected Robert to give up Downton. But simply to be more realistic about the changing social situation. His world view simply was too archaic. Your set never listened to anyone outside your own class."

"Yes, I realize we thought we were of a superior society. Taught that it was the natural order of things." Mary said.

"You would have looked down on all the friends we've made here. Made them to feel the way you made me feel. Not worth the time it took to scrape the dirt off your riding boots."

Mary winced at the truth of that. "Kassidy and Antoinette have shown me a great deal about how I've misjudged people. I might even have to reassess Edith."

Matthew looked keenly at Mary. "That's the thing though isn't it? The tightly fitted world of Downton doesn't allow for change. You knew your place, your value in society. That's what you all are afraid of. It's like a fragilely constructed tower. Start kicking the traces, questioning its values and it all comes tumbling down. And no one knows what that future will be, so it's best not to start at all."

"I'm not convinced even today people know how to live with each other." Mary observed. "It is exciting. But it's dizzy and confusing as well. I no longer know where I belong. That's both liberating, and scary."

Matthew agreed. "You are much better than you realize of course. You've got in the swing of things, made compromises. Seen that in ways both big and small. That's why you have not had as much trouble adjusting to this time."

"I see if for what it is." Mary said. "Granny always said one needs to do what needs to be done."

"You are very much like Cousin Violet." Matthew said. "The problem is Robert insists upon burying his head in the sand. It's not going away."

"But if we go back, I don't see either of us giving up our luxuries." Mary observed.

Matthew had to agree. "No. I suppose we won't. But I do think our unique perspective can make us more aware. That we've learned a thing or two."

"Maybe I should get Susanna my job at the shop. So that when we go back, Shirley will not have lost an employee and Susanna might just get out and live in the real world a little."

"I think that's a most excellent idea." Matthew chuckled, finally digging out his key and opening the door.

XX

"Come in, come in." Margary's friendly voice came from the kitchen. "I'm up to my eyes in pasta and Italian sauce. We have everyone in tonight and of course Maria took the day off."

"That's so kind." Mary said as Matthew brought her into the kitchen. Margary moved to glide a kiss on Mary's cheek.

"So nice to finally meet you. Matthew's become very special to us in such a short time. We feel as if we've known him much longer. So that when he came to us saying he was getting married, well... it made you all the more intriguing."

Margary gave Mary an appraising look. "So...you two knew each other in the past?"

A question, Mary thought, she didn't even have to lie about. "Yes we did. Took some twists along the way. I thought I lost him at one point, that I had ruined everything, but we're together now."

Matthew took Mary's hand and kissed it. "You never lost me. You've always been right here." And he put her hand to his chest. She felt his heart beat.

Margary approved. "I like the tenacity that took." Then clipply to Matthew, "I think you chose well."

The dinner was fully attended. Roger saying in his typical boisterous manner it all looked delicious. Eric, barely looking up all the meal from his iphone, grunted occasionally and shoveled food in.

Susanna, on the other hand, decidedly ignored Mary, even as she stroked Matthew's arm and hung on his every word.

"Mummy's in charge of arranging the Fancy Dress Ball this year. For Daddy's charity. You are coming of course? I've not decided to what wear. Cleopatra maybe? Or Katniss Everdeen?"

Matthew stared at her blankly. "A cat… erm…what?"

"From the Hunger Games movies, silly." She nudged him on the shoulder. "We will watch all of them this evening. In Daddy's man cave. There's a built in movie theater."

Matthew paled.

Mary found Matthew's discomfit just a little amusing. She dabbed the linen napkin along her mouth to hide her slight giggle.

Fedden said drolly, "I don't think Matthew wants to watch movies with you, my darling, not when he's just come back from honeymoon."

"Don't see why not." She pouted. "It'll be fun." And she slid her finger along his thigh.

Matthew stuttered, "I …I … I don't think so Susanna." And he tried to move. Of course the chair made a horrible sound as he shoved it away from her. "Not…not this evening."

Roger said, "I'll watch it with you, pet. Let Matthew be." Then to his young protégé, "Now make sure you do get some rest tonight. You'll need all your strength as tomorrow we have the full planning board meeting. …" and he winked at Mary, "Don't wear yourself out too much."

Mary gave a quick double take, then the slight pursing of her lips with the retort, "I'll take pity on him."

Roger guffawed in adoration. "I like this girl Matthew. You've found yourself a treasure."

Susanna harrumphed in unconcealed envy.

Matthew stared in open amazement.

Mary shrugged mischievously at him. He wasn't the only one who could fit into this century.

Mary took charge. "What is this Fancy Dress Ball?" She enquired to Margary but her eyes also drew in Susanna in her question.

"It's for Roger's charitable foundation." Margary's aristocratic drawl interested Mary. She knew very little of the Feddens, but it was clear that Roger was new rich while his wife came from old money. The two together, Matthew had said, made a formidable power couple. "We join several of his firms and interests together and all the employees, family, and friends are invited. Along with some well-chosen big donors." She turned to her husband. "The end result is usually huge checks distributed to several good causes."

And a stonking great tax deduction…" Roger added with a satisfied snort. Matthew grunted the approval he knew was expected.

"We coordinate our collection with event planners." Mary said, getting Margary's attention. "I could help you out with costumes and accessories." She directed her attention specifically to Susanna. "We have some gowns that would look stunning on your frame."

Susanna eyes opened wide. She suddenly saw Mary in an entirely different light. "You could really?"

Mary nodded. "Absolutely. Coco Chanel maybe? Or something Edwardian? We have some private stock in the back. Let's take a look tomorrow, shall we?"

Matthew looked on with wonder. That's the way to Susanna's heart all right. She'd have her eating out of her hand in minutes.

The meal finished with cannoli and wine. Roger took Matthew after in the study to coordinate tomorrow's meeting. Matthew enduring more vaping as he brought Roger up to speed on his research. He was finally released an hour or so later.

Mary had arranged for Susanna to come to the vintage shop for a fitting. She also had helped Margary with the dishes.

"I would never have imagined," Matthew mused, "are you going to get housemaid's hands?"

"Lots of gossip and conversation takes place doing those mundane tasks." Mary informed him. "Susanna is quite besotted with you by the way." She threw her head back and put a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was all I could do to convince her you weren't worth the effort."

"And I could not be more grateful." Matthew responded.

"I think I've quite saved the day actually." Mary said. "I must have earned a little kiss."

"You certainly, certainly have." And he stopped her on the stairs for a long, deep kiss. He took advantage of her sleeveless shirt to kiss her rose tattooed shoulder.

"I won't be able to keep my eyes off of that when we get back." His lips tickled her skin. "It will taunt me when you cover it up."

"Behave yourself, sir." Mary toyed with him. "You will be allowed such liberties as I warrant."

Matthew then took Mary by the hand and they ascended the rest of staircase to the upper floor.

Mary said, "Susanna's rather exhausting isn't she? Once she gets her claws into you, she doesn't let go. She does have some sense, though. So that's a good thing."

"But what about her faux taste?" Matthew teased. "Will she appreciate all your efforts or turn her nose up? How did you do it?"

"Needs must when the devil drives." Mary said. "I can prevent Susanna from appearing in some hideous monstrosity. And that way she'll impress Shirley, who'll love the business Susanna and all her friends can bring."

"And keep an eye on her, so that she doesn't stray back to me?" He smirked.

"Well I can't have my husband lured down to 'Daddy's man cave' can I?" Mary's arm draped possessively around his. "Who knows if you'll emerge unscathed?"

"Sea monster might be lurking?" Matthew rubbed his lips in amusement.

Mary's low and cool retort, "Well in that case I definitely chose wisely to intervene. She might have lured you in by turning up naked tied to a rock."

Matthew's loud chuckle rang through the staircase.

XX

"This fits well through your shoulders." Mary's flat toned indicated she was deep in thought. She stood back giving Susanna's neckline the once over. "But I'm not happy with the bust line." She fussed a bit with the fabric making sure not to damage the silk.

"Did women really wear these horrible strait jackets?" Susanna's whinging clear as she shoved and pushed her bosoms against the confines of the corset.

Mary's eyebrow raised. "It does wonders for your waist line." She added, "and keeps your posture nice and erect."

The eighteen year old snickered. "I know other things that I liked to keep that way."

Mary furrowed her brow in distracted confusion. "Other things…?"

"You are so lucky." Susanna's breathy sigh caught Mary off guard.

"How do you keep from not jumping him every moment of every day?" Susanna cried out. "He has such dreamy blue eyes."

"Jumping? Why would I want to …?" Then the light switched on in Mary's brain. "Oh…." She slyly side eyed Susanna. "Right…" Mary blushed furiously. "I don't really think we should be talking about such things."

Susanna giggled, delighted she had discomfited this woman whose natural poise and elegance made her feel entirely gawky and awkward. "You seem such a person out of time, you know."

"What do mean?" Mary knew exactly what she meant, but was surprised. She thought she had done a fair good job of fitting in.

"You're so ethereal and beautiful. Makes all of rest of us look like clods." Susanna's shoulders slumped and the S shaped contoured effect Mary had been trying to evoke fell apart.

Mary replied emphatically. ""We're trying to create a certain silhouette. It's all in your carriage, Susanna. Carry yourself right, your frame strong and straight, as my granny said, and a woman can do anything she wants."

Mary explained. "Come over here and try on these gloves. You walk into that ballroom, in that Worth trailing silk dress gown with those sleeved gloves you will turn all the heads, I promise you."

What Mary did not disclose to Susanna was that it was her own dress. The one she walked through the looking glass in those long months ago. She had given it to Shirley to put on display.

"You must be very careful with it though. It's delicate and easily torn." Mary could have shown the spot where Anna had mended the train where Mary had trod upon it with her shoe.

Would she ever see Anna again? Mary felt suddenly very homesick. She tried not to think about the future. About the possibility that even if they tried to return to their own time, it would not work. That they must instead make their way in this world.

But she had to get back. To save her sister. Matthew had tried to warn her off, saying that it might not be possible. That they might not remember anything. Or that they would arrive back at a different time. That, indeed it might be even worse than what they had learned in York. That the act of returning might change events to something different.

Mary had balled her fist and set her stubborn jaw. No…she'd go back and they'd have a chance.

Susanna's question brought her back to this reality. "Do these earrings work?" The spangles in hand were a horror to Mary's view.

Mary quickly shook her head but said diplomatically, "Not with that gown. You want teardrop earrings. And a fan…." And she wandered over to a glass case of neo-classical designed folding fans. "Hm… this one I think." And she gave over an ivory mounted fan with an antique scene of Love surrounded by the Graces with a border of flowers.

"Not bad." Mary expressed, giving the entire effect the once over. Susanna giggled and turned around. "I think that's about perfect."

"What are you going to wear?" the younger woman asked. She sighed again, "You'll out dazzle us all I'm sure."

Susanna, much to Mary's astonishment was not so much put out by her, but rather jealous of Mary's ability to be everything she believed she was not. Her airs of superiority a mask against a crippling sense of ill worth.

Mary realized she understood this girl more than she ever expected.

She felt most times a piece of property pushed around by her father from one beau to another. Her papa did not intend for her to feel so, but it was the cold reality of the entail and her life. As she had told Matthew so so long ago, she waited in a room until marriage. And that had to be the right one. Not necessarily for love. But for the arrangement best suited to her family and her father's title.

How funny it all turned out. She had, indeed found both.

And she had gained an incredible amount of insight into her own strengths and foibles. She agreed with Matthew that she had more to offer once they returned. She wanted to do more with her life than just be an ornament on her husband's arm.

She could start with Susanna. "I've not decided what I'm wearing. But the point is not just to turn heads, but to use all of your assets to best advantage. What do you want to do in life, Susanna?"

"I've no idea." Susanna answered. "Daddy wants me to go to university and read business or some other such boring thing. I've been thinking of RADA though. I was in our school production of Gilbert and Sullivan. I was one of the little maids."

"I know that." Mary said, for once able to answer a music question not related to something on Kassidy's Pandora feed. "It's The Mikado."

"I loved it. I want to pursue it…but..." Susanna's voice trailed off.

"You don't sound very sure." Mary did know that anything to do with the stage was quite the daring choice for a woman in her era. But was sure that had changed by the 21st century. "Are you passionate about it?"

"Yes." Susanna said, surprisingly strong in voice. "Yes I am."

"Then you should pursue it with all you have in you." Mary said. "Let no one deter you, mind."

Susanna gave Mary a spontaneous hug. "I'm so glad we met."

Mary felt a surge of affection for this younger woman she would never have expected. Must be the ache in her heart for Sybil, she decided. Although very different in disposition, both were head strong and just a bit contrary.

"Let's take this out to the show room and show Shirley. She'll have final approval." Mary said, and gently guided Susanna out of the private dressing room.

XX

Matthew walked in a few minutes later. He saw Mary, Susanna, and Shirley all laughing and singing as he walked into the shop. Kassidy was on her honeymoon after a wedding send off at the local pub just the previous day and Antoinette was out for lunch.

So it was just the three of them. Mary's bright soprano struck his ear first.

" _One little maid is a bride, Yum-Yum…"_ And Mary took a slight bow…  
" _Two little maids in attendance come_." The other two women stepped forward…. Susanna being extra careful in the Edwardian gown Matthew instantly recognized.

Then all three together sang,

" _Three little maids is the total sum  
Three little maids from school  
Three little maids from school…"_

They turned as if they all were in the tight fitted kimonos of Japan only to see Matthew's astonished face. His eyes, bluer than ever, denoted a charming confusion.

Susanna and Mary, pointed at him and fell into a fit of laughter, as if in on a joke he knew nothing about.

"Now girls." Shirley, said finally taking charge. "I've got a business to run. If you will get this young lady out of that gown as carefully as you put her in it, we'll have it pressed and fit in time for the Charity Ball."

Mary mouthed a quick, "I'll be back in a tick" motion to Matthew who nodded. He browsed around the shop while he waited. It still astonished him that his everyday items were now displayed in cases with little price tags attached. That pocket watch could very easily double for the one his own father had given him on his 15th birthday.

"Anything catch your eye?" Shirley sidled up to him.

"Well as a matter of fact," Matthew paused, "What about that necklace?" He pointed to a long strand gold tone blown glass beads. A twisted necklace with beads that alternated between large and smaller ones.

"You have a good eye." Shirley said. "Shall I wrap it up for you? We can haggle over the price at the counter." And she gave Matthew a wink.

Matthew thought Mary would look stunning in that necklace. They agreed on what he guessed was a reasonable price for a true vintage French necklace with provenance.

He shoved the box quickly into his jacket pocket as Mary emerged from the back room. She waved to Shirley, and they walked out the door. "Susanna is going to meet her friends, so we're free!"

"You are a miracle worker. A complete triumph." He said. "But I'm now curious as to your own costume. I thought you were sure to wear your own ball gown."

"I have some ideas about that." Mary said. "But will we be here for that?"

Matthew hated to disappoint her. He knew she wanted to try to return back to their own time sooner rather than later.

And she had waited patiently while he finished all his work with Fedden.

"Well…" Matthew stuttered. "…I do think I should go. It's expected. And I want to follow your lead and try to press Roger to replace me with Melisa. She's very keen and, if Roger is ever to get over his rather old fashioned attitudes towards women, he'll see that she's incredibly ambitious. He'll admire that."

Mary nodded. "I see. In that case I'll get started on my idea. It will require some work on your part." She appraised him. "Are you up for that?"

"Absolutely." He said, giving her a long kiss. Then he paused, suddenly suspicious…"why? What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see!" Was her delighted answer. "Let's go back to your room right now." She said, startling him even more with her boldness. "I have a sudden need to jump you."

"What?" He gasped. "Lady Mary Crawley indeed."

"Indeed!" She responded with a kiss where her tongue crawled down his throat. "Now sir."

And they practically ran the distance back to the Feddens and up the stairs. They fell onto his bed making the bed springs squeak.

Matthew chortled in semi-embarrassment. "We'll wake the house!"

"Good!" Mary had already thrown off her blouse and nestled herself against his chest. She made quick work of his jacket and dress shirt, revealing the goose pimples that her caresses and touches already had on his body. His trousers came off next and she wriggled out of her skirt.

"Is the door locked?" Matthew asked suddenly.

"Who cares? You don't think anyone will just walk in do you?" Mary's face was flushed with desire.

Matthew's irrational qualms were silenced when she moved astride him and pushed his shoulders down onto the mattress. She came down on his face and the kiss that met his lips pushed him towards blissful oblivion. His hands snaked behind her rear. He massaged each cheek as her tongue danced and played inside his mouth. She maneuvered her body to take him inside her.

The bed did creak and groan at their ferocious activity. He met her thrust for thrust. They developed a hard, fast rhythm. Her shattering groan of satisfaction meant that he had hit her most sensitive spot. He reached up and pushed her further down onto his shaft, eliciting another louder moan of ecstasy.

She fell against his heaving, sweaty chest. A smile dancing around her mouth, she licked her lips in complete satisfaction.

"You are the most surprising woman, Mary. You know that." Matthew said. "Every single day I walk this earth, I think I fall more and more in love with you."

Mary nestled her head into her favorite spot under his neck. "I feel the same Matthew. You have to know I do, my darling. I will always love you."

XX

The idea Mary had hinted at for the Charity Ball did indeed require Matthew's full attention.

But it also had his full support. It was a brilliant idea, playing on their own experiences at feeling existing in two time periods simultaneously.

He had to make time in his schedule for some fittings at a tailor. And to pay a rather hefty price tag. But as Mary reminded him, they can't take it with them so why not!

Matthew took her at her word and also went the extra mile by hiring a car for the event. He pulled up in front of the Fedden's house on the evening of the ball in an antique 1927 sports model dark blue Lagonda convertible.

He jumped out and leaned against the automobile waiting for her to emerge. And she took his breath away. The green dress was above her knees, sleek and slim fitting, with shimmering gold and silver beading and exquisite embroidered stitching. The halter style showed off her bare shoulders and exposed the rose embellishment that always set Matthew's mouth watering. She topped it all off with a head band and long gloves.

"You look stunning my love." Matthew said. "No one will take their eyes off you."

Mary glowed with happiness. "I saw this in the back of the shop when I was going through some of the vintage gowns with Susanna, and I just had to have it." And she took his outstretched arm. "And you are quite the bold cavalier in your swank chariot."

Matthew opened the door for her. She made him stand back up and fixed his tie. "You really do look marvelous yourself, darling."

Mary's idea had been that she'd be dressed in a '20s era dress while Matthew would take the opposite tack and garb up in an ultra-modern, sleek lined tuxedo of the 21st century. His dark, wool tailored suit followed his body line, customized to fit only him. It featured peaked lapels, a single button closure jacket, four buttons on the cuff, and flat front trousers. His blonde locks were swept up and back over his head and he sported a pair of sunglasses.

He pulled them down to reveal a pair of fine blue eyes peeking out from underneath the lenses. "I feel like a million pounds spent." He admitted. "But it's worth it. How often does one get to escort a beauty to the ball?"

Mary's gloved hand caressed his cheek. "Let us be off then." And he opened the door and helped her inside the passenger space of the convertible.

Once underway though, Mary's thoughts turned more serious. "Do you think we'll try it soon?"

Matthew knew what she meant. He maneuvered the gear shift down as he took a left turn, "Yes. Soon." But the vagueness of his tone made her uneasy.

He had adjusted to this time. He had found success in his work.

Did he really want to return?

This question nagged at Mary for most of the early part of the evening. They had arrived to cheers of surprise from the Feddens. They approved the dual costumes of past and present, with Roger noting "Your Mary is certainly a peach."

Susanna was taking strict care of the Worth gown as she glided across the room, in an apparent attempt at a waltz. No one on the floor, to Mary's critical eye, seemed to have any idea how to dance properly.

Mary's unease at Matthew's tepid response to her question about their imminent attempt to return to their own time turned into alarm bells at Roger Fedden's own surprise announcement. They had made their way towards the drinks table.

Roger put out his glass for a toast.

"I think it's time, my boy," and he leaned in to catch Matthew's ear, "that we talked about your future. I want to make your position more permanent with the company. Maybe even work you towards a partnership." The success of the planning board meeting, mostly due to Matthew's keen observations and incisive legal skills were not at all lost on Roger. He didn't want to lose him.

"You can go far in this life. You can have anything you want." Roger cocked an eyebrow at Matthew. "The future is yours." He put an arm around the younger man. "Seize it. Seize the moment." Matthew said nothing. He had no idea Roger was going to make such a lucrative proposal to him.

Mary looked on with a growing, gnawing sense of despair.

Was that to be the irony of this trip into Neverland? She would gain her family but lose her only love?

Could she return without him?

XX  
 _Big decisions for our time travelers in the next chapter…what should Matthew do?_

 _Reviews, observations always always welcome and appreciated!_


	9. Chapter 9: Back to Their Future

" _What day is it? And in what month?  
This clock never seemed so alive  
I can't keep up and I can't back down  
I've been losing so much time…" [Lifehouse]_

XX

Matthew was stunned by Roger's offer.

Did he want to accept? For a brief moment he considered it….

It would be, in any time, an offer one did not refuse. Guaranteed security for himself and Mary. Exciting work in an atmosphere he'd learned to adjust. A chance to give Mary opportunities in finding her own success under circumstances very different from the traditional, restrictive times they had come from.

Then he caught Mary's eye. And felt horribly guilty. She knew he was pondering it. She saw it behind his own furtive glance. He looked away quickly.

"Let's do it, Matthew." Susanna dragged on his arm. Matthew stammered a denial, but reluctantly followed her out onto the dance floor. She would not let go of his arm. The rock beat was a slow, rhythmic one and Susanna took advantage to slide up to Matthew and lean into his body.

Roger hooted "Come, my pet." And he took his wife's hand to painfully enact his version of a Dad dance.

Mary was left alone by the drinks table. Mouth agape, absorbing the possibility that Matthew would actually take Roger's lucrative offer. Of course he wouldn't, she thought. They were in this together. He had always said so.

But…

Fedden's offer included not only the potential for a partnership, but an arrangement for them both to be set up in one of his other holdings. A beautiful flat near Kensington Garden.

Their own space. To raise a family. They had made it, in other words. In this new time, and against the odds, Matthew had arrived at the shocking realization that they did not have to go back.

History was past. The future was theirs.

It was true Mary had become fascinated by her work at the vintage shop. She had learned of careers in materials restoration or the antiques trade that meant she could, with a certain amount of effort, secure her own future.

They could actually do this.

Stay.

Matthew was certainly being lured away by it all. Being his own man. He loved the freedom. Out of the stifling collars, the repressive social attitudes, the suffocating conceit of it all.

His eyes had betrayed as much to her. He wanted it.

Did she?

The music pounded out its rhythmic beat. She lost sight of Matthew and Susanna in the throng of revelers. People had gone all out for the fancy dress. She recognized some of the costumes from their own shop. A Grace Kelly Givenchy from a '50s era movie, a mini skirt and boots to mimic someone called Emma Peel, and several in Regency era gowns to take on the persona of a favorite Austen heroine.

The tangle of images of past and present made her head pound. Time twisting around itself.

She fought to breathe. A cold, lonely ache took over.

She wanted to go home.

The music changed. It was now playing a softer melody, in a time, a tempo she knew.

A singer stood up and fingered the microphone waiting for her musical cue.

Suddenly Mary felt a hot breath on her neck. Against her skin. It tingled deliciously. "What about it?" Matthew's voice whispered.

She turned. His face was next to hers. His eyes now deep and purposeful. He slowly lifted his arm. He quirked his eyebrow, "Let's show this crowd how to really dance."

He confidently grasped her hand and led her out onto the floor.

The singer began the first words of the song…

 _Heart beats fast  
Colors and promises  
How to be brave?  
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?_

Mary did not know what to think. Was he going to try to convince her to stay? That their future lay here? She felt dizzy in his arms. What did he want her to do? Throw her hope to save her family to the wind so they could live the good life in this century?

She faced away from him, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed his impassive face. His mouth slightly open as if he was just about to say something.

But his eyes…

His eyes never left her face. He was watching her every move.  
 _  
But watching you stand alone,  
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow._

After what seemed an age, Matthew's voice in her ear. "Everything's changed, eh?" His tone maddeningly impenetrable.

She inhaled sharply. He shrugged, still inscrutable as to his true purpose. "I cannot stay here Matthew."

He tried to laugh. "My prospects not good enough in this life to try it out?" It came out hollow.

She wasn't sure what he was after. "I must go back." She squared her shoulders and faced him, slowing down the pace of their dance. "I cannot live a life here in splendor knowing that I could have helped out my family. If you're not on my side, I can go alone, you know. I don't need you…"

 _One step closer…_

"What do you mean…?" His mouth trembled. His hand gripped hers tighter as they rotated around the floor.

"Oh Matthew…" Mary felt in despair. She was going to lose him.

Unexpectedly he came to the point. "Why don't we try tonight?"

Mary was startled, "Tonight? Right now? What about the party? About Roger's offer?"

He shrugged. "I love you too much to spend my life without you."

The music swelled…

 _I have died every day waiting for you  
Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you  
For a thousand years_

 _I'll love you for a thousand more_

His sudden smile lit the room, the weight lifted from his shoulders. "We'll take charge of our own life again. Chance fate. Fight for our right to live when and how we want."

The song flowed around their ears…

 _Time stands still  
Beauty in all she is  
I will be brave  
II will not let anything take away  
What's standing in front of me  
Every breath  
Every hour has come to this_

"What do you say?" He stopped slightly, awaiting her answer. "Can I come with you?"

 _One step closer…_

"Because I want to… very much." He nervously licked his lips, awaiting her answer.

"Yes." Mary's voice soared above the music. "Oh yes Matthew. Yes."

He swept her closer to him as they moved around the floor.

 _And all along I believed I would find you  
Time has brought your heart to me  
I have loved you for a thousand years  
I'll love you for a thousand more_

Suddenly she felt lighter than air. Matthew took the lead and turned on his heels. Then halting on his standing foot as the music hit the appropriate waltz measure, he slowly dragged his foot along the floor, carrying her along in his arms to the three quarters time beat.

 _I have died every day waiting for you  
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you  
For a thousand years  
I'll love you for a thousand more_

"Do you know the waltz was once considered the most scandalous of dances?" He spoke into her ear. "Because of the dancers held each other so close their faces touched. " His mouth twitched in amusement. "Fit only for peasants…." He paused. "And the middle classes of course."

Mary suddenly became aware that they were the only ones left on the floor. With every swirl around she noticed all the eyes of the partygoers on them. Their confident, stylish moves were effortless. She always felt so in Matthew's arms. She missed dancing with him.

"I think we have an audience." He murmured.

His body swayed her left then right. She swung her upper body away from him. It felt like she was flying. Matthew's toes glided and led her around and around.

 _And all along I believed I would find you  
Time has brought your heart to me  
I have loved you for a thousand years  
I'll love you for a thousand more_

The words of the song finally penetrating their reverie, and once Mary realized just how perfect it was, she began to laugh.

"I'll love you for a thousand years…" She was breathless with anticipation. "Let's do it now."

Matthew nodded, and as the last notes of the song faded, he wheeled her towards the side of the dance floor.

A smattering of applause and a couple of hoots of appreciation met them. Matthew smiled and, playing a bit to the crowd, delicately kissed Mary's cheek.

The hoots turned to whistles of approval. Then the music changed once again to a '50s doo wop and others replaced them on the dance floor.

"You're quite the lover of the lime light are you?" Mary said, "Who knew?"

"There's an astonishing amount of things you don't know about me." Matthew was good spirits now that they had made up their minds. He refused to look back to what might have been. There would be plenty of challenges ahead for them.

"I can't wait to spend my life figuring you out." She affixed a stray blonde lock from his forehead. She swept it back onto his head.

"And you as well." His tone somewhat short winded after the exertion of the dance.

Matthew's eyes scanned the room and noticed Roger Fedden, grinning madly, bearing down on them.

He espied the exit. "Come on." He thrust out his hand for her to take it. "Get out while it's good." Mary took his offered hand and they made a beeline for the door before Matthew's erstwhile boss could corner him again.

XX  
They sprinted down the few steps out of the Arts Centre.

"Which way?" Matthew scratched his skull and threw his head left and right, trying to get his bearings. In talking over their previous experiences with time travel, both realized it happened at the same place in the same park.

"What are we going to do with the car?" Mary asked, pointing to the vintage Lagonda in the car park next to the Centre.

"The Mall is southwest from here." He looked at his GPS on the mobile. "So down past Trafalgar Square and Admiralty Arch." The evening was upon them. The sun setting, neither day nor night. The dusky light revealed Mary's shimmering beads and head band and Matthew's sleek tux garnering unwanted attention.

"Can't be helped." He said, "I don't think we want to attract even more interest do we? We would if we drove up and parked it right next to the Mall. I'm not even sure you can anymore with all this modern security obsession."

Mary nodded agreement. "We'll just casually walk around. Like we're going to a function at the Palace." She grinned mischievously. "We won't attract attention that way."

"Right, that's a good idea." Matthew was distracted again by his iPhone. He fumbled on the keypad and he almost walked right into the traffic circle.

"Matthew!" Mary pulled on his arm and brought him back to the pavement.

"Sorry." He screwed his face in chastisement.

"We do want you to get back in one piece." Mary said. "I know I said I could do all this alone. But that was really just a bluff. I do need you. How else am I to explain the baby?"

That pulled him up short. He stared at her. "Are you sure now?" He glanced down at her still slim abdomen. "I mean I knew you could be …but?" His eyes beetled behind his swiftly blinking eyelids. "Are you really?"

"I am, Matthew. I am." She stayed his hand as it moved towards her own. They clasped hands and fingers. "Kassidy showed me how to take one of these modern pregnancy tests. A process I won't go into, but suffice it to say it came back positive."

She turned to his astonishingly handsome, but foolishly grinning face. "I most certainly am."

Matthew's arms slipped around her waist. Their lips met in a soft kiss. He pressed his lips again to hers. "My darling."

"We're creating attention again." She laughed.

"Who cares?!" He replied. "My darling wife is having a baby. Nothing else matters."

"Except that task at hand." She brought him back to reality.

"Yes. Quite." Matthew said practically. "Let's get this done."

And so together they made their way towards Buckingham Palace and The Mall.

Once within sight, the nerves set in. As did the practicalities of how to conjure up whatever pathways of time and space that would bring them back to 1914.

"Or will we end up somewhere else entirely?" Mary threw out the possibilities. "I know we've always assumed we'd go back to sometime close to a few months after we left, but will it? Maybe it will be years later? Or earlier."

"Let's face that if and when it happens." Matthew guided her towards the red pavement of the Mall. "I can't face all the alternates. Let's keep to the plan that this will work."

Mary's flushed face nodded agreement. The lights had come on as they approached the western end of the Mall at Buckingham Palace. The Queen Victoria Memorial was before them. They strolled down the pedestrian path alongside the trafficked street.

They held tight hands.

"There's Exeter House." Mary pointed out. "I walked out of the front door and across the street. And then it happened.

"We'll walk over there, then." Matthew's pace swiftened. Now that they had made up their minds, he really just wanted to get this part over with.

The wind picked up. Became war. Arid. A whirl of dust formed.

"Matthew…." Mary's voice became distant. She reached out again for his hand, but it slipped from her fingers.

"Mary!" Matthew's angst ridden shout out was lost in the vacuum she felt envelop her.

When the mist cleared, the first thing Mary saw were the gas lamps. They burned bright and lit up Exeter House before her. There was laughter coming from the balconies. The fairy lights danced and flickered showing the faces of the party goers. She recognized her mother among them.

Cora was bright faced and smiling towards someone. Mary moved a few steps to see who it was.

Sybil. Sybil was hugging her mother and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Sybil." Mary's breathless entreaty to the night. "Dearest Sybil." She was not in some other time, some other place. She had returned to the very night she had left. She could save her sister from that fate that had been shown to her.

But had she lost Matthew as payment for that request? Did the fates or the Ouija spirits or, heaven help her, God himself demand such a payment? A life for a life?

That she was shown a possible future and that to save her sister another must be sacrificed?

No surely not. Not after all they had been through. Not after Matthew's forfeiture of his own future for the sake of helping her. Of wanting to be with her.

"Mary" Sybil called out to her from the balcony. "What are you doing down there? We've been waiting hours for you to arrive. Where have you been? I've already got a full dance card and I did want to save at least one for Matthew. Do you know where he is?"

Cora whispered something into Sybil's ear. Her youngest rolled her eyes and returned to Mary. "Mama says it's not ladylike for me to shout. So get over here." And she giggled.

Mary was giddy. Both with happiness and with terror. Torn asunder by these conflicting emotions she could hardly move.

Her feet felt like lead weights. But she had to see Sybil. To touch her, to hug her. To tell her she loved her. So she made herself cross the street and enter the elegant door frame to Exeter House.

The first familiar face was Edith's. She snorted in derision. "Are you trying to upstage Sybil on her special night? I mean really, Mary. What is that dress? It's above the knee! Even you know the girl coming out is supposed to be the star attraction. Not her elder spinster sister. It makes you look rather greedy."

Mary's swift, biting retort was on the tip of her lips. Edith at her bitchy best was a target Mary rarely let go. But then she had to remember that just seconds ago she thought her sisters dead, lost to her forever.

So she restrained her long habit of baiting her sister, and instead became the diplomat. "Edith dearest, this is the latest from France. It's what everyone's going to be wearing next season. Let's go shopping tomorrow and we'll get you fitted at Madame's Fouquet's for one as well."

Edith was thunderstruck. Her sister never offered to take her to a dress fitting. They were ever in rivalry with each other.

Mary then kissed her sister briefly on the cheek, "Have a think about it. Have you seen Matthew by chance?"

Edith, returned a bit to her senses, said, "No. We all thought you were monopolizing him somewhere. You were expected over two hours ago."

"I was delayed." Mary said simply. What else was she to say?

Edith then looked behind her and smiled beatifically at the new guest. "Matthew, there you are!"

Mary's head twisted. "Matthew…." Her whispered prayer's answer before her now. Whole in mind and body. No apparition or ghost. But flesh and blood.

His brow was sweaty with nervous exhaustion, his face flushed. Eyes more than a bit wild. "Yes I'm here." He exclaimed. Taking Mary's hand, "I'm here." He touched her face. Felt her fingers clasped once again in his.

"What are the two of you about?" Edith replied, "We all know Mary's cutting edge of fashion. But she's roped you in as well? Papa's going to have a fit, you know. Showing up in black tie."

Matthew nervously felt around his collar. That's right, he muttered to himself. White tie for formal occasions. Back to the stiff collar, my boy.

"But I must say" Edith finished off, "you two do cut quite the dash in those new togs. How ever are you going to top it when we present Sybil at the King's Assembly Room?"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" Mary's stiff reply exactly what Edith expected. "We're going in now." And she took Matthew's proffered arm and the two walked as slowly as they dared into the grand ballroom. Eyes did turn towards them, a few titters behind some fans and pointed fingers towards Mary's head band and her exposed knees. The men in the room looked on appreciatively and began to walk towards her with impending requests for dances.

Matthew's arm quickly moved over Mary's shoulder. For one thing, it denoted to the hopeful suitors that he had had beaten them to the punch and had claimed her.

For another it hid the rose designed tattoo adorning her shoulder blade. "We'll need to find you a wrap." He whispered.

"And I need to get used to being treated like an adornment or possession again." She replied, taking note of his arm still wrapped around her even as they were now hidden behind a pillar near the buffet tables."

"I know better." Matthew's reply an acknowledgement of their shared future knowledge. "You are your own woman. I will always respect that."

"Matthew, Matthew…" Mary's voice trailed off as she touched his cheek, his jaw line. "I thought I'd lost you. That you could not return to me."

"I will ever be yours." Matthew said, bending down slightly to kiss her. "It just took me to a different part of the park is all. I had to find my way back to you."

"We're here before anyone even knew we were gone!" Mary shook her head in surprise. "But are you finding it difficult to remember things that just happened? I know we were at a party in London. I remember being fearful about Sybil. But the details, the particulars are escaping me."

"I think it's all just too much to take in at once." Matthew said. "I do remember we need to inform your parents of our intention to marry as soon as possible."

"Oh yes." And she absent mindedly rubbed her belly. She then took in her left finger. "And we need to hide these rings." Mary's hand reached out to his and took off his wedding band. "Men don't wear these now."

"Oh right." Matthew looked a bit disappointed. "I'll miss wearing it." With his right hand he removed the ring and slipped it into his pocket.

Their conversation was cut short by Sybil's squeal of delight. "Mary there you are. Look at you!" And she took in the head band and the shoes. "I want to wear something just like that when we go to court."

"I think a nice demure tulle will better suit, my darling." Mary slipped her arm around Sybil's waist. She hugged her sister with a tight squeeze. "I'll help you pick out something absolutely wonderful."

"Everyone here is such a dreary lot. Mama and Granny keep going on about all the prospects. I think they're all drips." Sybil drawled out. "Billy Hopkins is ever the indispensable. Oh Sybil…" she mimicked "May I fetch you some lemonade. Or maybe an ice as you look a bit tired. Why don't you sit out the Quadrille and we'll tackle the Mazurka later."

Sybil took Matthew's arm. "Say you will dance with me. I need to be saved from Billy's galumphing feet."

Matthew laughed. "Of course. But I insist on keeping the waltz for Mary." And he winked at his wife. For his wife she was, even if they had to pretend otherwise.

"Oh I hate that boring old dance. You can have Mary for that. " and then Sybil, very much like Susanna earlier that same evening, grabbed his arm and swept him onto the dance floor.

Mary let them go. She went in search of her mother. She felt worn out, like butter spread out over too much bread. But they were here. They had made it back. It was now a matter of settling back in. Making a better start for their life. Making their trip to Neverland or wherever worth the effort.

Her family had been brought back to her.

It was enough for now to greet them all in turn. Hug them. Tell them all, even Edith, that she loved them.

Cora approached. "Mary, I thought we had agreed on the Worth gown for you?" She made Mary turn around. "What's this?"

"Something I saw in London, Mama. I'm sorry I failed to consult with you, but I just had to have it."

"It's beautiful. And quite daring. I'm not sure I'm supposed to approve, but it is stunning."

"Mama," Mary started in, needing to get her parent's approval to something far more important than a gown or dress. "I've accepted Matthew's proposal tonight."

"Heavens! Because of this stunning outfit?" Cora smiled, "Any man would fall over themselves to see you in that."

"I'm serious." Mary's tone turned Cora's face to a more serious mien.

"Oh my dear." Cora kissed her cheek. "That's wonderful news. It's what we've all been waiting for. You love him?"

"I love him, Mama. I've loved him far longer than I would ever have thought." And that was the truth.

"Oh my darling." Cora squeezed her hand. "We'll tell your father later. After the ball is over. And start planning. Maybe a Christmas wedding?"

"No Mama." Mary paled at the thought of having to wait months. They had to be married now. "We want to marry in three weeks. Just long enough for the banns to be posted and the bishop informed."

Her memories of their future was diminishing. But right now she knew enough about her pregnancy that three weeks was cutting it close. She was already about that gone, and they would have to fudge a delivery date as it was.

Cora was dubious. "To get all the family together…."

"Mama this is not to be negotiated. Matthew and I feel we've waited long enough." Mary's stern tone took her mother by surprise.

"My goodness Mary. Why the rush? You make it sound rather too necessary." Cora's tone was apprehensive. "Matthew's not put you in an awkward position have you? Not been too presumptuous?"

"No mother. Matthew's as true a gentleman as you could wish. Far more than most I've met." Mary needed to set her mother's mind at ease.

"Does he know?" Cora did not want to bring up Mary's late unpleasant encounter, but she knew Mary intended that Matthew be told or else be caught in some kind of lie.

Mary's voice surprisingly calm and collected. "He does. It's all right between us. Matthew and I love each other and we want to marry very soon."

Just as on cue, Matthew approached. He sidled up beside Mary just as she was saying the last part to her mother.

"Is a date been set then?" He tried not to appear too anxious.

"Three weeks from Sunday." Mary said firmly. "Mama and I will spend every minute up to then planning."

Cora could do nothing else but give in. She gave her blessing and kissed both on the cheek.

Before she could change her mind, Matthew exclaimed, "Excellent. Let's celebrate by a dance." And he held out his arm to Mary. "Shall we?"

Mary took his arm and they once again found themselves swirling and gliding to a much more traditional Strauss waltz around the floor.

She shivered suddenly overtaken by all that befallen them. It was dizzying if she thought about too much. He caught her and moved even closer towards her face and body.

"It's alright. Everything's all right." He whispered. "We made it. Everyone's safe."

"But for how long, Matthew?" Mary's worried face meant she had a flash of memory of events to come. "We know so much. The war. Sybil's future. How can we …"

"We can't." He shrugged. "We can only live this life as it comes. I know what I must do. But nothing was ever written about my future. About our future. We make that ourselves. Don't be afraid, darling."

"For I have loved you a thousand years…." Mary's recollection of the earlier song. The song of their future. Of their past.

"And I'll love you for a thousand more..." His whispered promise against her ear. The music swelled and they were caught up in the dance once again.

XX  
 _As I see it …. This story could end here… a future unwritten… or just be the beginning of another chapter for Mary and Matthew… how do they adjust back? What will they remember? Forget? How will it all play out? What do you want?_


	10. Chapter 10:Christmas Time

_This is my MM Secret Santa offering to EternallyRomantic on Tumblr. I hope you like it. I wrote it so that you don't necessarily have to have read the previous chapters. I did want to return to this universe in particular at Christmas. I might have gotten carried away a bit… I would call this T+ rated… :) (thanks apollo!)_

XX

 _" When the day becomes the night and the sky becomes the sea, When the clock strikes heavy and there's no time for tea. And in our darkest hour, before my final rhyme, she will come back home to Wonderland and turn back the hands of time."_ Cheshire Cat/ Alice Through the Looking Glass

 **10 December 1915— Loos, France**

The cold invaded his body. Numbed his mind.

Matthew shifted, his gloves stiff from being encased in ice. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes but fumbled and caused them to tear up instead. His nose began to run.

He couldn't see a thing. Or breathe.

He blinked rapidly in pain. Looked out over the edge of the pit to scan for any German movement.

He doubted he find any. They were also probably hunkered down to wait out the cold.

But orders were orders. So he sat alongside the sergeant of the watch and waited.

His cold breath heaving, forming a fog in front of his face.

Then the now familiar tingling sensation assaulted his mind, a kaleidoscope of light and colours.

He was in some kind of office. Multiple images flashing across square boxes behind on a wall. Talking with a man across a table who pulled out a device from his coat pocket and handed it to Matthew. He took the device, looked at the words on the screen and laughed.

The two men looked at each other across the desk. Satisfied smiles on their faces.

Some kind of agreement reached. They shook hands.

Then he was back, his nose stuffed with dirt as the shell hit their dugout and his face fell into the muck.

The slime oozing. The smell unmistakable. He was back.

Matthew scrutinized the sergeant. The man had not noticed Matthew's stupor. He breathed easier.

Then another shell hit their location. The sergeant was hit, his legs buckling and he collapsed. Matthew instinctively threw the man across his shoulders and pulled them both out of the dugout. He ran as fast as he could under the heavy weight to the trench, maneuvering around the barbed wire to the steps.

"This man needs help." He shouted out. A couple of corporals ran to get a member of the RAMC. Another took the man from Matthew's arms and laid him down on a cot.

After a few minutes a corpsman arrived. "What's his name…?"

Matthew's eyes darted back and forth, the shellfire bursts making everything stifling and choking.

"Sgt. Raymond Fedden." Matthew replied and they both sheltered the man with their bodies as another shell burst overhead. The doctor opened the soldier's tunic to find a bloody wound in his abdomen.

"We've got to get him out of here and into the reserves." The medic motioned to two others who approached with a stretcher.

"Will the doctors be able to save him?" Matthew asked apprehensively. Not another one, his mind reeled at all the losses recently. "He's got a wife back home."

But didn't they all have family or friends? Matthew closed his eyes. So many dead. That caused him to think of Mary, back home with their ten-month-old causing her all sorts of trouble as she amusedly recollected in her most recent letter. He was learning to crawl and had hidden himself away underneath the pianoforte in the music room until his gurgling cries of laughter gave himself away to his Grand Mama Cora

"You got him back in good time. There's hope." The medic tried to reassure Matthew.

Matthew nodded slowly. Then he was called away by another lieutenant to complete the report on the German's movement along that sector.

Matthew never found out whether that sergeant survived to have a family of his own or not.

At least he didn't think he did?

XX

"Going back to lines tomorrow they say," Onslow nervously said to Matthew, the latter looking up from the letter he was writing.

"Don't I know it." He grunted in fatigue.

They had been replaced three weeks before, the snow allowing them some unexpected down time in boarding house near Lillers the army requisitioned for his battalion.

Matthew turned back to his letter.

To Mary. Saying nothing of course. He could never say what he actually was doing. Couldn't let the side down after all, back home by telling them killing Germans in useless dashes across no man's land would not make this war any shorter.

Nor prolong his life expectancy.

No… Matthew scratched his head. He would not tell her that.

Instead he wrote the usual nonsense. Funny stories from the officer's mess. That Jennings was as unreliable as the day was long. That he received the warm socks and to thank Anna.

That he loved her desperately with an ache that was unending until he was in her arms again.

Oh…well… that last bit was not nonsense.

He did love her. More than ever before.

Before… when exactly was that? Time had become so fluidic for Matthew. Since 'The Return.' As he had Mary had come to call it.

His mind played so many tricks now. Half the time he wasn't sure where he was. Some of his fellow officers had started calling him Rip Van Winkle as he would get this distant look and seem as if he just woken up in a different time. He'd ask what day it was…. Tell someone to just look it up on Google… Or that one time when he said he had been married Oct 24 2014. And he sounded absolutely confident he had been.

Others, less inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, stared like he had said he was the King of Prussia.

Matthew believed that was when the reservations set in. That he was losing his grip. Needed a rest. Or medical help.

He had brushed it off, saying it was a mistake. Of course he knew he was married July 24 1914.

He was fine. Really.

And then the call into the Adjutant's office.

"Mr. Crawley, this is just an informal meeting. No need to worry." Major Perkins intoned darkly, making Matthew worry all the more.

The chair squeaked as Matthew shifted uncomfortably.

"I want to go back to the lines with the rest of the company, sir. I don't want to be sent back." Matthew blurted out. His voice strained and desperate. Did that make him sound worse?

Perkin's cocked an eyebrow. "There's been some concern about your judgement. It seems others believe you cannot be relied upon to make quick decisions and give the proper orders to your men…."

Matthew shrunk slightly in the chair. Had it really gotten that bad?

Was he truly delusional?

By the time he left the meeting, Matthew's whole body was shaking. He darted his eyes left and right along the corridor to make sure he was alone. Then ran around the corner and up the stairs. Threw open the door of his billet and raced to his packing case.

He needed the diary.

The private one he kept locked up. Not even his soldier servant having access. It was his lifeline to the truth. Opened the lock even as trembling fingers fumbled with the lock.

He opened the case and pulled out the diary, thumbing through the pages until he found what he wanted to see.

" _It's all real_." The note to himself read. " _I know you'll think you're going mad. You're not. It all happened."_

Matthew's pulled his hands down over his face. Read it again. And again.

Breathing hard, his eyes blurred as he read it again.

It was real. It happened. He had traveled into the future and back again.

He had married Mary twice.

The flashes that came and went frightened him no matter how much he tried to hide it. Unbidden. No rhyme or reason as to when they appeared in his mind. Vivid dreams of playing darts. Dancing a waltz. Another in cramped bed with Mary, her leg tickling his own under the covers. The din of car horns and bass boosters. Escorting a young woman on his arm. Giving a presentation in front of a crowd. Laughing at a pub.

Even being in this room brought on the flashes. That he had been in a such a room before. A bed against the corner. A small bath off to the side.

Matthew trembled as he caught his breath, his hands gripping the sides of the locker.

He tried not to collapse, his feet threatening to buckle under him when the flashes started. They had been so confusing at first. He went into a kind of momentary paralysis. The major had been told he would stand for moments in a kind of trance. Then pretend not to even know what they were talking about. He wasn't reliable in making the quick decisions necessary on the lines.

Matthew put his head down as he squatted next to his case. Maybe he should be a red tab back at headquarters? One of the yellow brigade. Where the no – hopers went.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the memories of those insinuations. The snarling contempt on the edge of their voices. Matthew wanted to fucking punch the arrogant sneers right off their lips. But instead he held his temper in check as any violent outburst would surely simply have proven their point.

But it had led to the meeting with the adjutant.

Matthew knew he had to learn to hide the flashes as best he could. Surrender to them. His mind rebelled and tried to make sense of them. He had to tell himself not to try. Especially when they occurred in the middle of a skirmish.

He knew it was noticeable to others. They had stared as his eyes glazed over. The deepest blue, piercing and unseeing.

And then he came back.

And knew that he had caused a stir. He had tried to ignore the looks to return to this world of mud and muck as if nothing had happened. To hear other sounds. Men in pain. Smoke and the smells of the latrine and creosol chloride. Screaming shells overhead. Long night of endless fear. Pulling out his firearm as he moved his men over the top.

Seeing them die.

Or worse.

He had not quite got a handle on dealing with the flashes. Only an instinct making him confirm his belief that he was not going mad by looking at his journal.

He couldn't tell anyone. And that made everyone else suspicious that the war had nobbled him. Even now, as he left his room to return to the mess to finish his letter to Mary he had heard murmurs of "Crackers…" as he passed by some of his fellow officers.

Matthew knew he had to pull it together. Knew his future as an army officer was at stake if he did not.

He wrote none of those fears to Mary in the letter he sealed with a kiss against her printed name.

She was at home with their dearest little chap. He needed to believe that she was free of these flashes. They had started for him only after he arrived in France. Something to do with the war. Playing with his memories. Mixing everything up.

Reality shifted under his feet all the time.

His only shield against the darkness was Mary.

He needed to see Mary.

XX

Mary's arms opened and her body leaned down to take George into her arms. He had bumped his head in an ill-advised attempt to escape the nursery and race on hands and knees down the hallway.

And now he was whimpering, his face scrumpled and sad.

"Georgie Georgie…" Mary soothed as she lightly kissed his forehead. "What is Nanny ever telling you? You mustn't go exploring …" She gave the older woman a nod of understanding.

"Nursery discipline is everything." Nanny Webster chided. "You must not spoil baby."

But secretly Mary loved that her son was already so adventurous. She couldn't wait to get him on his first pony in the livery yard.

"Let's go see Great Grand mama Violet." And Mary turned to leave the nursery.

"Lady Mary…" the nanny admonished. "It is time for George's nap. He's in my charge and must keep to his schedule or his entire day will be upended."

Mary secured her son in her arms. "We won't be long." Her clipped, no nonsense response not to be questioned, she made for the stair case, smiling at her small victory.

Nanny Webster was always trying to assert her dominance over George's schedule. Telling his mother that indulging him would only lead to a spoiled little boy.

Mary ignored the presumably disapproving look Nanny gave her as she descended the stairs. She was the child's mother. And as such she wanted her son to realize from the earliest age that he was loved by all the members of the family. Not kept away for long stretches of time and brought out once or twice day to be kissed on the head and then sent away again like some inconvenient plaything. She knew that was considered odd, avant-garde even among the older generation. Her grandmother, her mother even did not spend so much time with their children.

Cora asked her once, did she ever feel unloved as a child? As if Mary was questioning her motherhood. Mary said she did not at the time. She had plenty of love, of affection from her parents. But she also knew now that she could have had more. Maybe she'd understand them better now, had they spent more time together. They were always so formal, so stiff with all the daughters. Better to be seen than heard. Run off with Nanny or the governess.

Maybe that's why she was always getting into trouble. Threatening to run away until Carson stopped her. Maybe that's why she chafed at the restrictions of the waiting room in which she had been placed. Entered the servant's quarters with Lord Crowborough. Allowed Pamuk to her bed.

What useless, indulgent whims of rebellion. Knowing always she could get away with it because of her station. Her title. Her father's money. Except when it resulted in the sullying of her reputation and the potential disaster that could have ensued had Matthew not understood.

She could no longer imagine her life without Matthew.

This was why she was so stubborn regarding George. The war had changed everything. Life was fragile. You must cling to all moments of love in order to survive.

The war, yes. Mary realized. But also "The Return." She had felt so lost, so bereft when she returned to this time without Matthew. Though most of it had slipped into a kind of half-forgotten dream, she remembered that. They were each other's strength.

She wrote as many details of these dreams as she could recall in the diary kept locked beside their bed. Sketches of being in a kitchen with other women, talking while making herself tea. Or standing behind a counter at a store waiting on customers. Of being with Matthew here at Downton, but in another century with tourists walking around gawking at the ceiling or artwork.

It helped to remind her it all actually happened.

So much of it so distant from the life she once again lived. Freer in many ways. But also tainted with melancholy. Except when she was with Matthew.

Oh she hoped Matthew would have leave for Christmas. His last letter did not indicate it was possible. But she wanted it so. Prayed for it each night, despite her uncertainty that God felt in any way disposed positively towards her.

He had hardly any time with George. His last leave being right before he shipped for France some seven months previous. They had hardly any time alone, what with her feeding the newborn and Robert monopolizing Matthew's time with war talk.

They had no time to speak of other things as well. She longed to ask him if he had the same kind of waking dreams she had. Disturbing at times, she felt quite discombobulated by them.

But she wanted to tell Matthew about them. And to reveal that her mother knew that George was not premature. As did Anna. It had been quite impossible to keep the information from them.

Anna had been the first to see.

Anna was the first to know everything. Well… almost everything. Undressing Mary the first night she was back revealed the tattoo. Mary had forgotten it in the midst of all the excitement of returning, of Sybil's ball, of being in Matthew's arms in their time so that everyone could see they were engaged and happy. Matthew had wanted to come back with her, whispering that they were married, feeling the wedding band he had placed on her finger at the registry office in London. In 2014.

Their other life.

She had allowed him a wisp of a smile, a finger to his lips, and a slight shake of the head.

She had to go back to Grantham House alone.

He knew. They'd be together soon enough.

So that night, the ball over and the family returned home, Mary's mind was on other things when Anna removed her wrap. She startled when the rose tattoo appeared against Mary's white skin.

Mary jumped as well. Anna eyed her in the mirror. The question forming on her lips but unsure whether she should ask.

Mary had already formulated an answer if this moment should ever arrive but she found herself a bit tongue tied. Already the memories of their time traveling adventures slipped her mind. "I'm afraid I was a bit reckless today. A fair in the park offering some beauty marks. Matthew dared me and I took him up on it." She hoped her voice was sufficiently contrite, slightly biting her lip. "I had no idea it would turn out to be so …so permanent."

'My Lady.." Anna said quietly, continuing her work. And said no more. But Mary knew Anna thought she most probably had lost all her marbles as Kassidy might have said back in the future.

But Anna also knew her place.

Then during the wedding dress fittings it was apparent that Mary's waist had expanded. Rounded. Unmistakable.

The two women had again eyed each other in the mirror.

Anna said nothing. But Mary knew she knew.

Mary shifted uncomfortably and started to make up another story.

"Would this have something to do with the night of the beauty mark, my Lady?" Anna intervened, a twinkle in her eye.

Mary's reddened cheeks were her answer.

So Anna pronounced with a pucker to her lips, "There are some situations best left unremarked upon. Wouldn't you say my Lady?"

Mary looked up through downcast eyes and returned Anna's cheeky smile. "Thank you."

The alterations continued without comment.

Mary knew it was only a matter of time before her mother knew.

The wedding had gone forward without incident. They had only a few days before Matthew had to report for duty.

Mary had taken suddenly sick several mornings in a row after. Matthew had already returned to the training grounds. Everyone assumed it was connected. Matthew had been so adamant about signing up as soon as the army was accepting volunteers. Mary at first would not consent to his decision. They had argued privately.

He left. She had kissed him good-bye at the train station. A lingering, longing length of a kiss. Never wanting to let him go.

Then she was sick. She let everyone think it was related to Matthew's departure. It was easier that way.

Mary was forlorn and had taken to her bed to hide out for a bit. Cora had knocked on the door. Mary huddled against the covers. She didn't welcome openly lying to her mother.

She tried pretending to sleep.

It was no use. Her mother sat on the side of her bed saying, after taking Mary's hand, "Is there something you wanted to tell me?"

"Matthew and I are fine Mama. I understand now why he felt the need to join up."

"That's not the only thing, though. Is it my dear?" Cora, trying to be delicate.

"I don't know Mama?" Mary had bluffed. "What?"

"You were ill this morning."

"Yes."

"Well I was wondering…"

"Yes Mama?" Mary's eyes narrowed.

"I think it very soon for you to be with child." Said in the flat American timbre her mother used when making a point.

"I am married Mama." Mary responded in her most upper crust English tone.

"I know dear." Cora was in no mood for Mary's contrariness. "But these things take weeks to manifest themselves."

"These things…?"

"Morning sickness. A roundness of the belly. I am not a fool Mary. We've been through too much together for you to keep me in the dark like this. Did Matthew force his hand on you in some way?"

And it was out. Her mother and Anna had both helped her carry the dead weight of Pamuk. They had shared her dirty secret. And now her mother did not want to be caught unawares again.

Mary slumped against the head board, but she cleared her throat and stated without hesitation, "It's not like that at all, Mama. Matthew and I love each other. He'd never do anything to ruin my reputation. We… we found ourselves together during the lead up to Sybil's coming out. Everyone else was busy. We took a walk at St. James's park where I accepted his proposal. I walked with him awhile and we found ourselves in front of his rooms. The ones he took during the season."

Mary calmly smoothed the sheet in front of her on the bed, to hide her jittery hands. "We got caught up in the moment is all." But her eyes did not meet her mother's. She had gone through so many possible responses should this situation arise, but in the end she just blurted out the first coherent thoughts that entered her head.

"You and your impulsiveness." Cora pinched her nose with her thumb and finger. "Is that why you two rushed in late to the ball? And demanded that the wedding take place immediately?" Cora finally understood everything. "You both were very conspiratorial. I thought better of Matthew."

"It's all worked out. And now Matthew's away again, this time to war…" Mary's eyes teared up, "I don't want a word spoken against him. He's my husband. And father to this child. No one need know."

"Your father you mean?"

"We've kept him out of worse." Mary then met her mother's eyes evenly.

The two women understood one another.

And so it had been. Mary gave birth and now George Matthew Crawley was a healthy ten-month-old. Any precociousness in development was taken in stride. Of course a Crawley child was clever, George's Grand Papa had boasted.

No one else had said anything. Dr. Clarkson has suspicions, Mary thought. But, like Anna, knew his place. The child was healthy. That was his first responsibility. Isobel had become something of an unwanted assistant at the hospital and so spent very little time at Downton anymore. Violet stayed at the Dower House. If either had suspicions, they kept their own counsel.

Mary let it go. And soon it was forgotten in the joy the young baby brought to the household. Especially as the war was now long past the promised Christmas 1914 end and now already on to the next yuletide.

She held the baby close to her breast. Matthew just had to be home. She needed him so. Wanted him to see their son thrive. Laugh. Bring happiness to all.

That all their adventuring through time and space and whatever it had been, had been worth it.

They had survived.

This war would not take him from her.

It would be just too cruel of the universe, God, or the fates. To bring them back, only to snatch him away again.

But of course her experiences were such that she realized nothing was a surety in this world.

All they had was love. Their love filled whatever space in which they existed. Sometimes she felt it was the only thing that sustained her.

XX

 **Downton Abbey - Christmas**

Mary was on the lookout for the delivery of the Christmas tree. As it December 23, it should arrive that day. But it was already well into the afternoon.

Violet had traveled over for the occasion. They'd all pitch in to place the ornaments. Violet would supervise.

"Mary, ring for Carson. Can't understand why tea is so late?" Violet was irritable. The weather was cold and her joints ached.

"I believe he said there was not enough coal for the stove. It's becoming more and more difficult to keep it heated all day."

"This war…" Violet muttered. "…will be the death of us all." She sighed heavily. She had seen so much in her life. How much more was there to endure?

Mary exited the room to hasten Carson's summoning. "Ah Carson." She found him already near the door. "The dowager is in great need of sustenance. Is there any chance of hastening our tea?"

"I'll have a word with Mrs. Patmore, milady." His reassuring deep tone reached Mary's ears. "She's been rather stingy with the coal, but I think we can figure something out."

"Thank you."

But her eyes were soon drawn to the door. She heard a car drive up. Thinking it was finally the delivery.

But the someone got out of the car and opened the wooden paneled entrance without waiting for the butler.

A whoosh of cold air greeted her as she hastened towards the caller.

She knew…she just knew…

"Matthew!" And without thought to decorum threw herself into his waiting arms.

"Darling…" Matthew's arms encircled Mary's waist.

Her warmth felt so good against his wet, cold cheek.

Others had gathered in the salon, but no one interrupted for a few minutes. Leaving the soldier at home from the war to the reassuring arms of his wife.

Matthew reluctantly let go. "I had leave at the last moment. I probably should have sent a forwarding telegram…"

"No…" Mary's alarmed expression concerned him.

"Why? That way you could be prepared." Matthew did not want her to think he had known about his leave but was too thoughtless to inform the family.

"Telegrams are things we don't like receiving. Not anymore." Mary stood back, but held tight onto his wrist.

His arm trembled at her touch.

The astringency with which those words were told spoke volumes to Matthew. To have a telegram now meant only one thing. That something had happened to a loved one. Missing in action. A prisoner. Or died of wounds. A letter from the commanding officer to follow.

"Of course…" His response a bare whisper. "No telegrams."

They embraced once more and then Matthew finally turned to greet the family members who gathered.

"Robert." He shook the older man's hand. Robert was in uniform. "Are you away as well?" He gave a dismayed look across to Mary.

"No alas. They don't want me." Robert let go of Matthew's hand. "I'm an honourary colonel in the North Riding. I might get some kind of London posting."

"Well you're well out of it." But Matthew said no more.

"Come. Come." Robert declared instead, "We were all about to have tea. Carson…" and he turned to see the butler standing off to the side, a happy smile also on his face that the heir and father of the next heir was safely back home for the time being.

"Yes my lord." He intoned. "In the library."

Matthew took Mary's hand, not caring if it was protocol. He needed to feel her skin next to his. Her life. To know she was real.

When they sat down Matthew leaned over to his wife, "Where's George?"

"Upstairs with Nanny. His afternoon nap. We'll go up shortly."

Mary understood why he kept her hand inside his own. She felt him shaking as he put on the brave face in front of the family.

"After dinner," Matthew whispered "when your father wants to keep me for port and cigars I'm going to cut it short. I'll signal you when we rejoin you all and we can retire upstairs."

Mary gave him a side eyed glance.

His cheeky grin was impossible to deny. Even if it was a bit frayed at the edges.

"I'll be on the lookout." Squeezing his hand even as she moved to take a cup of tea from the tray. Her eyes betrayed her as she turned to face him again. They darkened and turned passionate.

Matthew sat back, trying to be content. He was home. About to see his son. Later to be alone with Mary.

Sybil walked in just then. "Matthew!" She took the few steps over towards him.

Matthew rose to greet her with a kiss to her cheek. "Hello. Where have you been?" He took in her nursing garb.

"I've been filling in as a volunteer at the hospital. But in the new year I'm traveling to attend VAD training. Not that I'll be seeing any soldiers right away." Sybil's voice was wistful. "It is supposed to prepare us though."

Matthew blanched. He knew what the nurses saw in terms of the wounded. He didn't wish that on anyone.

"Not too soon I trust." But he said no more. Any loose war talk was frowned upon. Must keep up the courage of the home front.

"Come sit bedside me." Mary made room. The two sisters hugged. Talk turned to the Christmas tree which has finally arrived. The house boys were helping to set it up. "We'll all decorate when it's secure."

"Is Edith coming?"

"No. She's busy with her farmers." Mary's dripping disdain cut short only by the memory that she was trying to love Edith more. Sometimes, though, she forgot why.

Matthew's cup shook and dropped on the carpeted floor. The family turned, but he seemed not to notice anything.

Mary immediately distracted everyone from Matthew's disconcertingly blank face by reaching down to get the dropped cup and saucer. Carson took it from her hands.

By the time she returned to a seated position, Matthew was blinking rapidly. She tried to shield him with her body so he could not be seen.

The family noticed anyway. "My dear chap…" Robert's voice the first he heard.

Matthew's mouth opened but no sound came out. He felt everyone's stare.

Matthew's blue eyes were flawless. Mary was often lost in them. In their beauty. In their teasing.

She wasn't used to seeing such pain in them.

"Let's go see if Nanny is ready for us." And Mary clasped his cold and clammy hand into her own. "We'll come back down when they've opened the ornament boxes."

In that moment Matthew hated everyone and everything.

"I'm fine," he shook Mary's hand away. Matthew's brutally cold retort surprised his wife. Mary rarely ever heard him angry. He resisted Mary's coddling. He realized too late they was overheard. He put his hand to his brow. This was all more difficult than he imagined. The sense of unreality being away from the trenches combined with his embarrassment over the looks of patronising concern. Just like in the officer's mess.

He knew better. But the feelings were there nonetheless.

He turned to Mary, his eyes softer. Blinking back some tears. Trying to make amends, "Can we bring George down?" Matthew asked longingly. Making Mary love him all the more.

Matthew did not want to miss any time from his son. "I know he's too young to help..."

"Of course." Mary's voice warm and loving. Reassuring. "Granny will want to see him as well." She linked her arm into his and squeezed against him as a message that they were in this together.

Matthew gazed upon his wife in awe. She was his rock.

"Let's go get him…" His voice ragged and aching.

When they left the room, Matthew threw all convention out the window and cuddled Mary in his arms. They stayed that way as long as he needed to. Then he murmured into her ear, "Oh God Mary. I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to sound off like that."

"I know." They met each other's eyes. "I think your dreams are worse than mine."

"You have them too?" Matthew knew she had. But wanted to believe he had taken on the entire burden of the time traveling. That Mary was safe. He needed her to be safe.

"Let's talk about them later." Mary said, wishing to divert him away from the darkness. She led him up the stairs. "Right now I just want to get George and decorate that Christmas tree."

They both turned to see the massive Norwegian Spruce fill the salon hall below. The house boys were scampering about bringing in the boxes of lights and ornaments.

"Our first Christmas as a family." Matthew inclined his head towards Mary.

"Let's make it the best one ever."

They ascended the stairs towards the nursery. Nanny Webster awaited them with George in her arms. His chubby fingers rubbing his eyes after the nap.

"Here's Papa." Mary said, taking the baby from the nanny's arms.

"Hello my little one." Matthew took him from Mary. "I hear you're giving everyone fits when you scamper away from them." He kissed the child's head.

"May we take him down to help with the decorating?" His question diplomatic, knowing from Mary's letters the nursery was the domain of Nanny Webster. He gave her his most winning smile, his eyes blinking back some joyful tears this time.

The older woman, who would normally scold Mary for any disruption, melted instantly. She looked on in adoration as Matthew carefully lifted George into his arms and placed him next to his shoulder. "Certainly, certainly sir." And she smiled beatifically, "Here's his favourite blanket. In case he gets a wee chill."

"Thank you." And Matthew turned to walk out of the room, completely unaware of the effect he had on the usually no nonsense nanny.

Mary mouth was agape at the change in Nanny's attitude, "She'd never let me get away with that." Mary observed coolly to her more than pleased husband.

"I just know how to win people over." Matthew retorted with a twinkle. He leaned over to give Mary a kiss.

Mary was about to give back when she suddenly realized how happy Matthew was now. George in his arms, a calmness descended around what had before been all coldness and fear.

It was good. It was all so very good. She gave into the calm serenity and escorted father and son down the stairs to the awaiting family.

It was everything she had wanted in their time traveling. To be returned home. To have everyone together. They were all safe.

Christmas was the time to take it all in. To bask in the wonder of their return and to enjoy every instant. For they, better than most, knew it was ephemeral.

XX

Later after the dinner and the cigars and war talk with Robert, Matthew signaled Mary as he promised earlier. He hovered in the doorway upon rejoining the ladies as Robert said.

Mary met his smoky darkened eyes. He unobtrusively tilted his head towards the stairs across the hall. His need to be alone with his wife etched across his weary face.

Mary whispered something to her mother and walked over to him. Wordlessly she grazed his cheek in passing him moving her hand along his waistcoat in a manner both suggestive and inviting.

Matthew's hungry smile her reward.

They left.

Their bedroom became their sanctuary.

Matthew slowly undressed Mary, savoring every touch, his lips gliding along her slender abdomen, her waist, and then inner thighs. Sensing her need as great as his own, they shed the rest of their clothing and made love.

He kissed every part of her.

She stopped his troubled mind. She possessed his soul. Atop him, she controlled his need until he was blind with lust. Every thought focused only on her. On what she was doing to his body. She pushed against him, moaning in exquisite pleasure.

They came as one. He arched against her to extend her peak. She collapsed against his sweat soaked skin, the heat of his body in jarring contrast to the chill in the bedroom.

Mary stayed in his arms, reluctantly regaining her composure after the blissful haze of love making.

They slept. Mary pulled the covers up and they spooned against each other. Matthew's fingers cupping her breast.

In the middle of the night they made love again. Slept again.

Matthew had not felt so at ease, so at peace.

He saw in the dawn though. His body accustomed to waking with the light for patrols.

He let Mary sleep. He dressed and walked down the hall to the nursery. As he hoped George was also awake, in his crib and yawning.

He gathered the child in his arms.

Held him tight and moved towards the rocking chair in the corner near a window overlooking the grounds of Downton.

His cheek resting on George's head they rocked. George fell back asleep. Matthew hummed a lullaby from his own childhood.

"Would you like to give him his bottle?"

Mary had been watching him unnoticed from the doorway.

Matthew nodded. She prepared it and brought it over. "Let's go back to our room. Let Nanny sleep."

Matthew walked with the child down the hall while Mary had a word with Nanny Webster.

He had taken a chair by the window in their bedroom, George already sucking down half the bottle. Matthew gazing on in wonder and love.

Mary sat in the window seat. "We'll take him back for the rest of his breakfast and then go down ourselves."

"I thought married ladies have breakfast in bed." Matthew joked lightly.

"We do." Mary replied, "but I don't want to lose you from my sight. Every day I wonder if you'll disappear again into the mists."

She spoke in humour, but Matthew knew the truth of it. "I do too." His breathless answer breaking her heart.

"I find myself forgetting more and more." She admitted. "Then I have a vivid dream of being in the shop, helping customers, and singing Gilbert and Sullivan."

She giggled at the thought.

"I remember that day now that you say it." Matthew reflected. "We were just married. The first time."

Mary got up to open a drawer by her bed. Pulled out the diary she kept. "You remember this?"

Matthew took it from her. Opened it to find a picture of them at the registry office in 2014. It was shocking to him as he'd not seen it since it was taken. And all of that experience was fading, a distant dream of another life. Another time.

They looked so young. So innocent. Would he ever be that happy again?

"Do you ever regret coming back?" Mary asked. "I know I was the one more interested in returning. You wouldn't be in the army now if not for me." And she gave a shiver.

"I remember when I left to join up you were so angry. Was that with me? Or yourself?"

"Both." Mary shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't want to see why you had to go so soon. I also blamed myself for forcing your hand when I know you were content to stay with your job and the freedoms we had."

"I don't want you to think that at all." Mary had taken George so that Matthew could read the diary entries. He needed it to refresh his memories.

"I told you to keep this?" He scratched his cheek in confusion.

"Yes. When you left saying that in the army you couldn't possibly keep anything this private. That I had to keep it safe for both of us."

Matthew read the first entries. Written when they first arrived back to 1914. That their memories were already fading but that everything that was written here in their own handwriting was true.

Real. His hand shook.

Just like the one entry in the journal he kept under lock and key in France.

"They're trying to say I've cracked up." He shifted in the chair. "That's really why I've got this leave. The adjutant said I needed a rest. It seems I'm unnerving the rest of the company."

"Dreams?" Mary inquired. "Mine come as dreams. Did you have one yesterday? When you seemed to fade away?"

Matthew blanched. He nodded affirmation. "That's how they come. Sudden. Without warning I was looking at you and then we were walking in a park. You had on shorts and tank top. I was leaning towards your tattoo..." he blushed at the vividness of that reflection. He had become aroused so when he returned to the library setting with all eyes on him, he felt rattled.

"That has required quite the fabric of lies to explain." Mary said ruefully. "I believe Anna must think me mad when I tried to dismiss it as a whim of the moment."

"She'll keep your secrets to the grave." Matthew stood up to retrieve George again. The child seemed more than content to let Matthew hold him.

"You'll quite spoil him you know. Letting him be held and coddled that much." But her smile was indulgent.

"Good." Matthew laughed. "I want him to know and remember me when I get home next." He sat down again.

"I remember the rush to get married again when we returned. Because of this little guy." He kissed George's head.

"I have a confession about that. You should know that Mama and Anna both know I was already pregnant. It was impossible to keep from them but I've been reluctant to tell you. I hate that Mama believes you to be some kind of cad to take advantage before marriage. When it was quite the opposite." Mary moved closer to him on the window seat.

Matthew surprised her by laughing. Then he turned beet red. "I have a confession as well then." He leaned over George's head and placed a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Do tell. I need a good story."

They laughed.

"My mother and Cousin Violet also know." He sat back and awaited her reaction.

"What?" Mary was seldom taken off guard but this astonished her. They had neither ever given her any indication of such intimate knowledge or were in any way less loving towards her. "How? Why did you tell...?"

"I didn't." He reassured Mary. "I would have had no words with which to inform two formidable matriarchs that we were intimate before marriage."

"So how…?" Mary was now more than curious.

He shrugged. "They figured it out. You were glowing. I was determined to set a wedding date. They conspired to get me to tea alone right before I was to leave for the train. I walked right into their trap. Mother poured while Violet was the Grand Inquisitor. One question and they had their answer. Violet looked at me and asked if the wedding was hastened because I had already brought the intended bride to the marital bed so to speak."

Mary inhaled and put her hand to her mouth. "What did you say?"

"I didn't need to say anything." Matthew confessed. "I know I blushed so furiously red that it was all the answer they needed." He laughed turning the same flame red again. "Indeed though I have your granny to thank for my mother not continuing the interrogation. She was on the verge of asking how could I when Cousin Violet pushed a plate of sandwiches towards her. Mother got the hint and we changed the subject."

"Well it's all water under the bridge now." Mary knew they had to move. Anna must be wondering why she had not rung to help with the morning ablutions.

Matthew wanted one more memory. "You were a beautiful bride. I might not remember much of this one..." He held out the 21st century photograph for Mary to put back in her diary. "As glad I am that it took place. But I do remember every detail of you walking down the aisle on your father's arm in the village church. It was a dream come true. I had loved you for so long. And now we were joined together for all eternity."

"In this life and the next..." She finished. Those words taking on new meanings for the reluctant time travelers.

She moved her face down to take his lips into her own, saying with more confidence than she felt. "Come back to me Matthew. George needs his father. We both still have so many adventures ahead of us."

They held each other close, tears streaming down both their cheeks. George a warm bundle of love between both his parents.

XX

Christmas morning was snow filled. At first Matthew was reminded of the war. The cold bitter wind. The snow that turned to muck.

But when the family returned from Christmas services, they were walking along the path from the village to the house, Matthew suddenly loved the snow.

George's cheeks were pink from the chill, bundled even as he was in layers of warmth.

Mary's eyes reflected the sunlight. The sky was that perfect blue. Like his son's.

Isobel took her son's arm. "It's good to have family around at times like this."

He got suddenly choked up. His mother was alive. Healthy. Vibrant. Stubborn as ever. She was determined to work for the Red Cross in France. He was going to protest. But decided it was no use.

"Maybe we'll have some time together in Paris. Once you're over there."

"I'd like that very much." And mother and son walked behind wife and child on the return to Downton for lunch and gift exchanges.

Matthew had not much time in London before catching the train to Downton. He bought George a Teddy bear and Mary a necklace. She was wearing it already as he had given it to her in private just that morning.

Matthew received some cufflinks from Mary. She whispered, "for when you return home permanently." And a wristwatch. He and Mary shared a private laugh about Robert's comment of just how smart he'd look with the new style watch. "It's all the rage in London Army circles."

The highlight of the day of course though came after dinner.

"Come on everyone." Rosamund clapped her hands. "We're all in the drawing room. "Come along."

Matthew groaned as his was the first name called.

"It's the game Matthew. We always play the game after Christmas dinner. It's your turn. Mama's called your name. Are you afraid of looking foolish." Mary's teasing made him laugh. As if they were back in the pub playing darts. "Too bad. Get up." And she pushed him away from her arms.

And so he did. Scratched his head in thought and finally gave Mary a cheeky grin. He held up five splayed fingers.

"Five words." Edith said.

"Obviously..." Mary mocked. Edith threw a dirty look.

Cora looked disapproving. "Well for heaven's sake we all saw him hold up five fingers." Mary tossed back. Being nice to Edith really did need to be her new year's resolution.

Matthew continued. He's put up four fingers. He looked at Edith and smiled.

"Fourth word..."and they both gave a conspiratorial giggle. Mary rolled her eyes but joined in. "Two syllables."

Matthew started gesturing. He gazed longingly outside the window.

"Window..." Rosamund guessed.

"Glass..."

"That's one syllable..."

Matthew shook his head. "Try again." Sybil encouraged.

He held out his hand flat and inspected it closely.

"Examine..."

He sighed. Two fingers.

"Second word." This time Isobel. "One syllable."

Mary thought she had the right inkling of what book title he was acting out, but she was enjoying his gyrations too much to cut it short.

He put both arms straight out in front of him and moved them in a wave back and forth.

"Swimming..." Edith tried.

"No ..No" Rosamund countered. "Pointing?"

Matthew kept at it, practically willing them along.

"Matthew you're doing it wrong." Rosamund chided.

He blurted out "How do you know what I'm doing? It's not what you think."

"Is there room for misinterpretation?" She retorted back. "You're not doing much of anything."

Matthew bit back the response he wanted to give. But the dirty look was sufficient he believed for Rosamund to not misinterpret that.

He tapped his foot in agitation.

Mary finally said very dryly, "Through?"

That was enough to change his mood. He had been wishing Mary to join in.

Matthew eyed her charmingly. He knew she had the right answer.

Sybil said thoughtfully "through...? Through... looking. That's what you were doing at the window..."

"Lewis Carroll's Alice Through the Looking Glass!" Sybil and Edith chimed together.

"Very good Matthew!" This from Mary. He sat down next to her, exhausted in a most pleasing way from that activity.

"It seemed appropriate. _'When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.'_ " And Matthew continued, "it's one of my favourites _. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves. Did gyre and gimble in the wabe...'_ I had that at school. Humpty Dumpty is so vain."

He scrunched his face with a disarming charm, like a schoolboy winning a prize.

"Not at all like you, clever clogs, reciting from memory." Mary couldn't resist.

"Absolutely not!" Matthew was appropriately mock appalled at the very idea he was showing off.

Cora called "Mary your turn."

"Shoes on other foot. Get up and better that." Matthew challenged.

Mary threw him a wicked glance and moved to the center of the room.

"Three words."

Mary made a gesture with her mouth.

"Song title." Sybil provided.

"First word."

"One syllable."

While never taking her eyes from Matthew, Mary pursed her lips tighter and tighter. And blew him a kiss, holding her finger out, pointing and motioning for him to come to her.

And he knew the song.

Knew it intimately as the reminiscence flooded his mind.

It had been one they slow danced to in London when they alone in the Fedden's townhouse.

The memory returned in detail. Very measured. Very sensually they had danced. He had eased up behind her and whispered the lyrics while moving in rhythm against her rear. Grinding his body against hers. She had gasped when his hands came to rest along her hips as he swayed her to the music.

The very thought of it made him aroused. He shuffled in his seat and glanced around to make sure no one noticed. Robert was in conversation with his mother. Cora and Isobel had furrowed brows trying to parse out what Mary intended. Sybil and Edith were pointing at him, laughing at Mary's attempts to discomfit her husband.

He turned back to Mary. She threw one last shameless peek his way, just to extend the torture of not being able get up and kiss her. Then relented and pretended to change her mind and started another title. This time a book as she cupped both hands open.

The game started again.

She shook her head, her arms flailing by her sides.

"Drum?" Isobel said.

"No…wave?" Edith countered.

Mary looked decidedly put out. Then pretended to fall down like a rag doll.

"Drop?"

"Mad…." Edith muttered.

Matthew couldn't help but chuckle in utter delight at his wife's willingness to do whatever was needed to win the game.

She was ever the competitor.

"Fall!" His mother finally got it. "Tenant of Wildfell Hall!"

Everyone clapped and Mary sat back down beside Matthew.

He deliberately chose not to discuss her first choice of titles. At least not until they were alone.

"Well done! Who wrote it?" He cocked his head towards Mary.

"Anne Bronte. The one people forget." Mary informed him coolly.

"Of course." He confessed with complete composure. "All those Bronte's. No one even remembers their poor brother Branwell."

She sniffed, "He foundered in alcohol and laudanum. Anne was quite ahead of her time. She's certainly better than your old Dickens any day."

The side of his mouth ticked up in a mischievous grin. "You're probably right."

During the rest of the game they gave each other private winks and glances increasing the tension that would only come to fruition later in their bedroom.

But first they crept into the nursery to see their son. Mother and father peeked over the sides of the crib.

"Happy Christmas." Matthew whispered sweetly to the sleeping babe.

He looked over at Mary. His eyes wet with happy tears. Mary took them both in quiet amazement, "I love you," she said fervidly gripping his hand alongside hers. "I'm so scared…"

"Shhh…" Matthew led her outside the nursery. His lips brushed her forehead, felt the curls of her hair tickle. It had taken a lot for his brave and self-sufficient wife to admit to fear. She would survive if anything happened to him. She had the grit and determination of her grandmother. He'd want her to be happy.

This war.

This war could take so much away from them all.

His family. He loved them so much. Could no longer think of any life without them.

"I'm not sure of anything." Matthew said as they walked the short distance to their bedroom. "I know you disagreed with my enlisting. I can't even explain to myself why I did. I'm glad you found it within yourself to forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Mary cried out softly. "What choice did I have? You were going. We were married. We support each other. I did not understand. I'm not sure I do now. It has something to do with where we were and where we are now."

"I couldn't stay. Knowing what I knew. What was to come. Reading what I wrote down in your diary upon our return only makes it more clear in my head. So many dead. I know that even I don't understand. I call myself a fool every day on the lines for leaving you. Leaving George. But if I can save just one man from a sure death. … " gasped for breath, the emotions overcoming his reason. "I do think it was worth it."

Matthew opened the door to their bedroom. "Stay here a minute." He went into his private dressing chamber. Opened a small locked box hidden deep inside his wardrobe.

It was still there. But did it still have a charge?

He brought it out. Smiled with a twinkle as he flashed it in front of Mary.

"What is that? Your iPhone?" She was stunned. "I…I thought we left everything behind."

"It was in the pocket of my tux. I forgot all about it until I was undressing that night in my rooms. I locked it away." His voice dark like decadent chocolate. "I have no idea if it still works."

He held out his arm, slowly taking up the space between them with his desire. "Shall we see?"

Mary puckered her lips in amusement. "Of course."

And he turned on the device. They hovered over it. "Ah…" It powered on. "3%." Matthew grimaced, but added, "Just enough." And he fiddled with the screens until he found what he wanted. His music list. The one Eric helped him create so that when he ran around the park, he'd have something to listen to.

The song was on it.

The one Mary played the game to.

Matthew pushed his finger against the app, Johnny Gill's "My My My" began to play

 _So good  
My, My, My  
Listen  
Put on your red dress_

Mary came up to him, one lock of his blond hair falling across his forehead. She took two fingers and moved it back into place.

He shuddered in agony at her touch.

 _And slip on your high heels  
And some of that sweet perfume  
It sure smells good on you  
Slide on your lipstick_

He watched Mary as the song played. Mary swayed her hips to the rhythm. She slipped off her dress at the same time. It was such a good thing they gave Anna the night off….

Matthew was mesmerized. He undid his tie leaving the ends hanging loosely. He unbuttoned the stiff collar, detaching it slowly from around his neck.

Mary watched every motion as he then flicked the tie around and off his neck. He threw it on a chair.

Her eyes never left his body. He moved towards her.

She moved towards him.

 _Let your hair down  
'Cause Baby when you get through  
I'm going to show you  
Tonight will be a special night_

 _No matter where we go  
And I'm so proud to be with you  
I just want to let you know_

Their arms entangled and twisted around each other. His fingers glided down the soft silk of her bodice. Came to rest as they passed the curves of her hips on the rounded flesh of her rear end. He stroked and massaged, moving her closer and closer to him.

 _You got my saying  
My, My, My  
My, My, My  
You sure look good tonight_

The song slowed, the smartphone was dying… the lyrics getting even more distorted somehow make it more sensual as the words blurred

 _I just want to look at you  
Girl you are so fine  
I can't believe you're mine  
And all I want to do_

 _I want to make love to you  
Tonight will be a special night  
A minute more to come  
And I'm so proud to be with you  
So proud to share you're love_

Matthew's lips crashed into Mary's.

 _Make love all night long  
Make love all night long  
'Til the dawn  
Come On  
Come On_

The mobile died….

But they no longer cared. The music of their love carried them into the night.

XX  
 _Happy Christmas to all! This is the longest chapter I've ever written of any story…lol! I do so hope you liked it and it was all you wanted from our time travelers._

 _There might just be one more epilogue... after the war... Not sure... BUT ! Merry christmas to all readers, reviewers, likers, and favoriters lol_


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